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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167732">The Journal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch'>LakeWitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anonymity, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry Potter, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Coming Out, Cooking, Depression, Desi Harry Potter, Diary/Journal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Eventual Fluff, Except it's in a magical journal and not a phone, Fighting in the halls, For a bit anyway, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hufflepuff &amp; Slytherin Inter-House Friendships, Hufflepuff Common Room, I made myself cry at a certain part, Indian food, Knitting, M/M, Magical Diary - Freeform, Magical Tattoos, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mind Healers (Harry Potter), POV Harry Potter, Party Games, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexting, Sexual Fantasy, Showers, Slow Burn, Slytherin Abuse, Smut, Spin the Bottle, Tea, Television Watching, Therapy, Top Draco Malfoy, With emphasis on the friends part, at parts, flower shop, if that matters, self-care, the html in here is a b, they switch but I don't show it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:02:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>59,439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Voldemort's death, everything was supposed to get better, supposed to <i>be</i> better. Harry was meant to live a normal life. </p><p>However, he very-unfairly found himself with crippling depression and an anxiety problem—his Mind Healer says he has PTSD. Hence (when he could get out of bed), Harry's summer after the war was filled with intense therapy sessions, renovating Grimmauld Place, and teaching himself how to cook Indian food. </p><p>Now Harry thinks he's ready to return to Hogwarts for an Eighth Year. But before he does, Harry picks up a journal from Flourish and Blotts on his Mind Healer's urging. He's meant to write down his thoughts and feelings, no matter how seemingly trivial.</p><p>There was nothing, no pamphlet, to indicate the journal he bought was magically-linked with someone else's. But, when he finally opens it up, someone's already written inside.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>893</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi ❤️</p><p>Just a few notes:</p><p>1. Warnings for:<br/>-Mental health issues (anxiety attacks, PTSD, depression, anxiety, grief)<br/>-references to the Wizarding war and its deaths<br/>-explicit sexual content<br/>-Description of a M/F sexual fantasy (plus a few M/M ones)<br/>-Alcohol Use<br/>-Swearing<br/>-People kissing people whom are not the main pairing</p><p>2. I remember magically-linked journals being a drarry trope back in the day, so yeah! Here’s my version </p><p>3. This fic uses a work skin to make the journal entries separate colours, so if you use a skin that overrides mine, you might get confused as to who’s writing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><i>Keeping a journal implies hope –Erica Jong</i><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The midday sun streamed in through shop windows at Flourish and Blotts.  </p><p>It was the sort of light that made you squint when you looked right into it, and cast sharp shadows on the books that weren’t in its path. </p><p>Late-August London had found itself in the midst of a heatwave. The air was thick, muggy, and Harry Potter would rather be at home in his garden with a cooling charm and a bowl of ice cream than be in Diagon Alley, purchasing school supplies.  </p><p>It was simply too hot, there were too many people around, and it was far too loud. Dozens of Hogwarts students were inside the shop with him, shoving each other, bumping into book displays, and chattering excitedly about yet another year at school. </p><p>Harry didn’t quite share their enthusiasm. </p><p>Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, hesitating, with his arms full of Eighth year textbooks. Harry tried to tune out the noise (and the bodies moving past him), considering something.  </p><p>His Mind Healer over the summer had urged him to keep a diary, a journal, but he hadn't wanted to. After all, what happened, had ... happened. There was nothing left to say about it. And he didn't want to dwell on the past. He didn't really want to dwell on the present much either. Or the future, while we're at it. But she had insisted, said it was good to get his thoughts out and acknowledge them. Now the summer was coming to a close, and here was his chance to purchase one before the days got too busy with schoolwork and friends and things. If he waited any longer, he’d never buy one at all. </p><p>Someone bumped into him as they passed by, nearly causing him to drop his books. He really needed to get out of there. Well … there was no harm in getting a journal, he thought. Better to have it, just in case. </p><p>Harry randomly grabbed a decent-sized, brown, leather-bound one off the shelf, then navigated his way through the other students to pay at the counter.  </p><p>He left the shop to get the rest of his school shopping finished as soon as possible.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>September 1st came quickly, and Harry wasn’t quite sure he was ready to go back. It’d been just about four months since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the time had flown by in a mess of nightmares, anxiety attacks, oversleeping, and Mind Healer visits.<p>Odd how everything was so much harder to handle after it was already over. You’d think the saving-the-world bit would’ve been the hardest part—the most panic-inducing part—and that afterwards should be all smooth-sailing. But no, only once the dust settled had Harry discovered his anxiety problem. It was wholly inconvenient and unfair, if you ask him. He should’ve gotten to enjoy having a normal life for the first time, with no one actively trying to kill him anymore.  </p><p>He had PTSD, his Mind Healer had informed him. Trauma.  </p><p>Sometimes Harry feared Voldemort was still in his head. </p><p>Sometimes he thought Voldemort might come back to life. </p><p>Considering Voldemort had cheated death before, it didn’t seem that improbable a fear. But Harry had been there, Harry <i>knew</i> he was dead. Just sometimes … well. </p><p>But he’d gone over most of that—he’d spoken about his fears at length with his Mind Healer Moira. He’d done exercises. He’d learnt coping mechanisms. And it was all somewhat more bearable these days. </p><p>So, he was going back to Hogwarts.  </p><p>But Harry couldn’t help wondering: did he seriously think it a good idea to return to the exact place so many of his friends had died? The place <i>he</i> had died? Well … his Mind Healer apparently thought so. Getting back on the proverbial horse, so to speak. </p><p>And, as she’d reminded him, he hardly ever had anxiety attacks or broke down in tears lately. He’d already made great strides. He didn’t sleep all the time anymore, and he was interested in things again—most notably cooking. Lately it’d been his mission to learn to make all the Indian dishes he imagined his relatives (on his dad’s side, that is) used to make. It was … well, fun. And he was sort of good at it, though he hadn’t yet gotten any second opinions. </p><p>Also, if he didn’t go back to Hogwarts now, when all his friends were going back, he never would. And Hogwarts would become this place of fear and death, and did he want that? Well … "no" had been his answer, in the end. Hogwarts had been his first home. He sort of owed it to the school to face it, Harry figured, and make amends with it, in a sense. To make new happy memories. </p><p>So, there he was, on the busy platform with trunk in hand, ready (more or less) for his final year. Harry gripped the handle a bit too tightly, and had to try to will himself to relax. </p><p>It was still altogether too hot out, with hardly a cloud in the sky. He felt uncomfortable, and it wasn't just the weather. Nervous, excitable first years were buzzing around him, casting Harry shy, awestruck glances that he was trying to ignore. He tried staring at the train instead.</p><p>‘Harry!’ </p><p>Oh thank God. It was Hermione and Ron, hand-in-hand, coming towards him wearing matching smiles. </p><p>He let them hug him, before Harry said, ‘Let’s get on the train.’ He’d had just about enough of feeling everyone’s eyes on him. </p><p>The three of them piled inside, and soon found a compartment already occupied by Dean and Seamus.  </p><p>‘How were your summers?’ asked Dean, as they one-by-one hoisted their trunks into the luggage racks. </p><p>‘Brilliant,’ Ron replied, plopping down into a seat. ‘Hermione and I travelled to <i>Australia</i>. We saw loads of cool stuff, even kangaroos!’ </p><p>‘And my parents got their memories back,’ Hermione added, rolling her eyes in a teasing way as she sat beside her boyfriend. </p><p>‘How was yours, Harry?’ Dean asked, turning to him, with a friendly expectant smile on his lips. </p><p>‘Fine,’ Harry answered simply—he didn’t want to get into it. He managed a strained smile in return though, as he sunk into the seat next to the window. </p><p>Thankfully, Seamus interjected before anyone could prod Harry further. ‘Dean an’ I went to Portugal!’ </p><p>They all chatted about their summers for a while, and Harry found himself falling silent. He hadn’t travelled or read any good books; he hadn’t gotten a significant other, or watched any Quidditch.  </p><p>And he didn’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up his mental health issues. </p><p>‘Hey, this’ll be our first year at Hogwarts as a proper couple,’ Ron said, reaching for Hermione’s hand. </p><p>She looked up at him, with love reflected in her eyes. ‘Yes it will.’ </p><p>Ron leaned in, and kissed Hermione’s mouth softly. </p><p>Harry averted his eyes—choosing to feign interest in the countryside passing by instead. </p><p>‘For us too,’ Dean said softly. </p><p>Harry shut his eyes. He could hear kissing. </p><p>Before long, quiet, soft kisses evolved into all-out making out. Tongues and wet smacking noises and all. Harry tried to keep his eyes averted, and wished he had a discman right then, even though it would be rendered useless once within Hogwarts’ walls. </p><p>There’d been a lot of coupling up over the summer, evidently. He’d suspected Dean and Seamus were into each other before—he'd shared a dorm with them, after all—and now he had the visual evidence. And auditory evidence. </p><p>It was a bit uncomfortable having Hermione and Ron touching tongues together in front of him as well, it was sort of like how he’d imagine seeing one’s parents making out to be. On the one hand, he was happy for them, but he didn’t particularly want to be an arms-length away from it. </p><p>So Harry pulled out a book from his bag, and tried to read. It was called “Trust After Trauma: A Guide to Relationships for Survivors and Those Who Love Them” by Aphrodite Matsakis. His Mind Healer had gotten it for him, and it was pretty good so far. It helped to be reminded that he wasn’t the only one in the world feeling like he did. </p><p>But the lip-smacking was a bit distracting when a book is asking you to take inventory of your relationships. It served to highlight what he didn’t have … someone to lip-smack with. Not that he needed that or anything, at this stage in life. But … it might’ve been nice. </p><p>Harry had considered getting back with Ginny after the war; it <i>had</i> occurred to him, yes. He’d even spoken to his Mind Healer about it. But, ultimately, it was probably wiser to focus on his mental health first, and put everything else on the backburner.  </p><p>Ginny had popped over to Grimmauld Place, a few weeks after the war. She’d been kind, but had asked up-front if she should wait for him, asked if he saw a future there. He’d told her the truth—that he wasn’t sure, that he needed time, but she didn’t have to wait for him or anything. Honestly, he didn't know if they'd ever get back together. Harry did love her, he thought, in some capacity, but … but he wasn’t sure about them. Wasn’t sure they were right for, like, forever—forever was an awfully long time after all, and he was only eighteen. (And traumatised.) </p><p>Harry shut his book, and tried looking out the window instead. Just watching the endless plains of green go by. After a while, he got up to walk, to stretch his legs. </p><p>But that didn’t work so well, because a group of Ravenclaw boys soon cornered him in the cramped passageway. </p><p>‘Harry! Harry Potter!’ </p><p>He nodded and tried to budge past them. </p><p>‘Tell us how you murdered You-Know-Who, Harry!’ </p><p>Those words sent a cold shiver up Harry’s spine—and startled him in place. So much for that, then. Giving up on stretching his legs, Harry mumbled some non-words at the boys, and rushed back to his compartment. Back to make-out-central, then, he thought, swallowing hard. </p><p>Harry got through it, though. He survived the journey without further incident. Eventually the making out had settled down, and they’d all wondered aloud about what an Eighth Year would be like. It felt almost normal, to talk about teachers and coursework, and listen to Hermione babble on about potential lesson-plans while the rest of them only half-listened and exchanged exasperated but fond smiles. </p><p>The train arrived, and they all piled out. It all looked the same—there was the castle, towering above in its usual glory, seemingly unharmed. Harry took a breath and set off for the carriages. Evidently, more people could see the Thestrals this year, if the shocked sounds were anything to go by. But Harry didn’t want to dwell on it—he largely tried to tune out what people were saying, and climbed into a carriage first, with Hermione and Ron trailing after him. He couldn’t wait to be inside the castle, and all settled. </p><p>And then there they were—back at the first true home Harry had ever known. It even smelled the same (but did he expect any different?). They all settled into the Great Hall, taking up their usual seats at their usual tables. The Sorting Ceremony proceeded as it always had—with so many new, bright-eyed faces. They were young and hopeful and excited to learn about magic. It was … nostalgic. And nice.</p><p>But as Harry looked around the room more closely, it was startling to see how many empty spaces there were on the benches. Did the spaces belong to people who had died? Or simply people who had decided to drop out? </p><p>In between bites of roast beef, Harry’s eyes darted around the room. Something twisted in his gut.</p><p>The Slytherin table had the most free-space—he noted—and next to them it was Hufflepuff. Merlin, it was depressing him. </p><p>And yet, the other students didn’t act like it was depressing. At all. They smiled, joked, cheered for the First Years, leaned over to kiss the person beside them (again—<i>couples</i>—where’d they all come from?), stuffed their mouths with food, and most looked, well, happy.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>This carried over into the next days. It seemed like it was only Harry who noticed the changes, noticed the reminders of what they had lost, and of what he had personally lost.<p>The school, as a whole, felt tainted by the war. It wasn't quite the same home Harry had known for 6 or so years.  </p><p>On the third day of classes, Harry was by himself, on the way to Potions, and happened upon a nasty scorch mark on the wall.  </p><p>It was only a mark. And yet, Harry’s feet froze to the floor as he stared at the darkened, gouged stonework. </p><p>Nausea twisted in his stomach. </p><p>Had someone been cursed there? Or was is worse, did the mark mean somebody had died … in that very spot? </p><p>And if a curse could do that to stone, what could it do a body? </p><p>An imagined bloody figure popped into his mind, slumping lifelessly to the ground. </p><p>Harry's breaths sped up, but not enough oxygen was getting into his lungs. He reached out for the wall with shaky fingers, to steady himself. </p><p><i>Fuck, not now</i>. </p><p>He tried to will himself to relax. He told himself it was only a mark—it didn’t necessarily mean anything. But despite his efforts, sound was becoming distorted in his ears—distant footsteps, chatter ... were becoming something else entirely. There was a terrible ringing growing, echoing louder and louder inside his head.  </p><p>And his vision was going fuzzy on the edges. He was becoming all light-headed and wobbly. </p><p>He was going to faint, he was sure of it. </p><p><i>Someone might see him.</i> Harry would hate to have anyone see him. They’d talk about him—it’d be … embarrassing. </p><p>Thankfully he knew this hall, and a bathroom was just around the corner. He beelined for it, with all his remaining willpower and a hand on the wall for balance. Harry then rushed into a toilet stall, locked it, and sank to the floor. He wrapped his arms tight around his shins, with face pressed into his knees.  </p><p>Breathing. He needed to breathe properly—but they came out like gasps. </p><p><i>Focus</i>. </p><p><i>Easy</i>. </p><p>Breathing in.  </p><p>Breathing out.  </p><p>In. </p><p>Out. </p><p>In.  </p><p>Out.<br/>
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<br/>
He let out a choked sob.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<i>It’s okay.</i> </p><p>It’s okay.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<i>You can skip Potions,</i> he said to himself, as tears streamed down his cheeks. Hermione will give you the notes. </p><p>
  <i>It’s okay.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry started avoiding the general area of where Fred had died. He had to.<p>Even being vaguely near, he’d feel terrible pangs of grief. Overwhelming pangs. Sometimes he'd have to Alohomora an empty classroom and give himself a moment to slow his breathing, and wipe away tears. </p><p>But, despite all this—despite everything—Harry believed it was good that he’d come back, even if it was very hard. He didn’t regret his decision or anything. (And he’d known it was going to be hard, especially at first.) </p><p>Yes … overall, it was a bit lonely, being surrounded by couples, teenagers who were living in a Voldemort-free world for once. Happy, carefree people. He so wished he could be the same. </p><p>He did sort of wonder what was wrong with <i>him</i>, why he couldn’t enjoy himself like his friends did. But he remembered what his Mind Healer said … that nothing was inherently wrong with him. That he’d gone through terrible things, even before he knew about Voldemort … all the years of neglect and emotional abuse that he’d never had time to process. Fuck … it was boring being so damaged. </p><p>But, <i>no</i>, he had to remember to be kinder towards himself. He wasn’t damaged or broken, and he had so many people who loved him. And he was going to get better, he was going to be fully himself again—and he was already loads better. </p><p>Of course it didn’t help any that, in addition to dealing with his mental illness, people—strangers mostly—wanted to talk to him, to touch him, to hug him, to ask him questions, to tell him <i>thanks</i>. He hoped they’d all get it out of their systems fast, he’d rather like to be left alone. Ron and Hermione were doing their best as buffers, but they couldn’t be around all the time.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>It was a few days into classes and Harry was sat in his four-poster bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep, though his dorm-mates clearly could, with Ron snoring the loudest of the lot.<p>He was feeling particularly cut off from the world at the moment. Separate, somehow. </p><p>It was then that he remembered the diary he'd bought. He shuffled to the end of his bed, and opened his trunk. He fished around, and his fingers caught on the thick spine. Pulling it out, he scooted back and sank down into his pillow, hugging it to his chest. What would he even write about? His life had been chock-full of death-defying adventures up until last May, but now it was just nothing. He had no goals, no missions, apart from graduating. </p><p>All he had was grief and uncertainty, really. Well … he could write about that … all those thoughts and feelings, like his Mind Healer wanted him to. </p><p>He sighed and cracked the journal open to the first page. Harry's eyebrows shot up when he saw elegant cursive writing already there. He hadn't thought Flourish and Blotts would sell a used diary. He flipped the pages, but just the first one had writing on it.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue">September 1st, 1998<br/>
Back to Hogwarts. I don't know why I'm writing in this bloody thing. Mother seemed to think it would be... therapeutic? Well, some things just can't be fixed. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">September 2nd, 1998<br/>
As expected, it feels horrible to be here. I'm reminded every day of the bloody war, reminded of bloody <span class="u">everything</span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">September 3rd, 1998<br/>
I should drop out. I don't know why I came back. Whatever possessed me to return? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">September 4th, 1998<br/>
I'm just going to keep my head down, get this year over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry simultaneously felt shock and relief. Shock to see entries in his own journal, relief to read something similar to his own private thoughts and feelings. Finally. After it seemed like everyone in Hogwarts was happy except for him. </p><p>Odd that a person would return a used diary to Flourish and Blotts though ... Harry read the dates more carefully, and the timeline didn't make any sense.  Harry bought the diary before class started … and these dates were this past week. Had someone in Gryffindor started writing in it? He looked around the darkened room, at all the closed curtains around him.</p><p>But the journal had been stuffed deep in his trunk … and his dorm-mates weren't nosey like that.</p><p>His imagination strained to conjure up an answer to the mystery. Perhaps this was a special diary for post-war survivors going back to Hogwarts. Maybe he’d dropped an insert somewhere. Somebody could’ve written those entries as examples, he supposed, to show that it was okay to feel different being back. All rather weak explanations—Harry decided not to think on it, and picked up a quill to add his thoughts. To see what might happen.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Sept. 5/98<br/>
Yes. It is kind of horrible to be back at Hogwarts - it's definitely not the same anyhow. But what's the alternative? We can't go backwards, and it’ll never be exactly like it used to, so I guess we go forwards. Whatever that means. </span></p><p><span class="font-brickred">And, yeah, the reminders of the war are very hard for me. But, at the same time, I’d hate to get used to them. The curse marks, the empty seats, the parts of the school where terrible things happened... If I got used to them, isn’t that a bit like betraying the victims’ memories? I don’t know.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry shrugged to himself, and thought that was enough for today. He placed the journal in the top drawer of his nightstand.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry had a very boring next day. Breakfast as usual, class as usual, lunch as usual, class again as usual, dinner as usual, and then homework as usual. He came back from the library and eyed his nightstand. Might as well write another line in the journal about how boring his life is. So he took it out of the drawer and opened up to the first page again.<p> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Who the fuck would break into someone's dormitory, and write in SOMEONE ELSE'S JOURNAL?? If you come back, just take the blasted thing, don't write a few lines and leave it there! This is not a fucking <span class="u">community journal</span>, and I don’t give a Thestral’s arse about how <span class="u">you</span> feel. WHO? <span class="u">WHY</span>? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry blinked at the page, surprised, he certainly hadn't broken into anyone's dormitory. He grabbed a quill.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Hello?<br/>
I didn't break into anything. This is my journal, in my dormitory. I'm holding it in my hands. It was just in <span class="u">my</span> nightstand.<br/>
Who are you?? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry stared at the page for a while. Nothing happened. It brought back memories of Tom Riddle's diary, of course, but the person inside this one seemed very different from the young Voldemort. Definitely less manipulatively charismatic than him, and more … despondent? Rude? A touch dramatic?</p><p>Could this be a Horcrux?  </p><p>No, he decided, running his fingers over the paper. Horcruxes have a certain feeling to them, something Harry was all too familiar with. This diary felt soul-less.  </p><p>Soon some words appeared on the page, underneath his note.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Fuck off. I’m not in the mood for pranks.<br/>
Stay away from my things. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Fine, Harry wouldn’t use it again. He could easily get a normal diary that didn’t write back to him so insultingly.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> All right, I could argue all day that I’m not messing around in your things, but you wouldn’t believe me. And whatever, I can just get a normal journal to write in. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Oh </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">You’re writing right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I apologise, I may have </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">overreacted </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry huffed a breathy laugh. That de-escalated quickly. Thinking again of Tom Riddle’s diary, he scribbled:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Are you a real person? Or are you a sentient diary or something? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
(Just to be sure.)<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> I am an actual human being, sorry to disappoint.<br/>
It's more likely that our journals are magically linked.<br/>
Though why Mother would think of giving me </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
That last sentence became crossed out with a single neat line.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Well. That’s neither here nor there.<br/>
Must have been a mistake. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Ahh. Yes, I suppose that could be it. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Well, you can use it. I wasn't interested in keeping a journal anyhow. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Neither was I, to be honest. You go ahead, I'll quit writing in it. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Whatever. I don't care. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry put his quill down. That was weird, but, probably the most interesting thing that happened to him in months. Strange that he'd just happened upon a magically-linked diary.  </p><p>He'd sort of enjoyed that anonymous exchange.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry wondered who the person on the other end of the diary had been. He looked around at meals. He thought it was most likely a bloke, though a girl could be just as foul-mouthed and unhappy, he supposed. He looked out for loners, people who were "keeping their head down" as the diary person had written. But he couldn't guess who it was.<p>It still seemed like he was the only one who felt out-of-sorts being back. The Great Hall was full of smiling faces, conversation, and the normal taunts and teasings that came with being a regular teenager. Even the Slytherins, as dwindled in numbers as they were, looked normal. Or as “normal” as they always had been. Blaise Zabini had surrounded himself with younger Slytherin girls; he seemed to be telling them a funny story, because they were all giggling into their hands. And Draco Malfoy was deep in conversation with Pansy Parkinson, looking thoughtful. Harry nibbled a piece of toast, wondered vaguely about what they talked about, until a joke from Seamus captured his attention instead. </p><p>‘Why does Santa Claus have such a big sack?’  </p><p>‘I dunno, why?’ asked Ron, with a mouthful of eggs. </p><p>Seamus wore a shit-eating grin on his face, leaning forward. ‘’Cause he only comes once a year.’ </p><p>Harry bit back a groan, as Ron burst out laughing, spraying bits of egg over the table, to Hermione and Ginny’s immediate disgust. </p><p>‘Ron!’ chastised Hermione. </p><p>‘It was Seamus’s fault.’ </p><p>Harry went back to eating his toast.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>A couple of uneventful and quiet weeks passed, and Harry was getting better at knowing which hallways triggered anxiety and which didn’t. Rather than avoid them (because he wanted to get better, and the only way of getting better was to face his emotions, yeah?), he was at least prepared for the feelings he was in for. And Harry was practicing his breathing exercises every day. So, all-in-all, it was better.<p>He hadn’t had to Alohomora a classroom for a week. </p><p>So, Harry decided he wanted to use the diary again, to celebrate this new milestone. The other person had told him he could after all. </p><p>To his surprise, there were new entries already. Harry thought he shouldn't really violate this other person’s privacy, and went to close it. But his eyes were drawn to the elegantly written words “Harry Potter”. It gave him pause. If someone was talking about him, he figured he should know what they're saying, right?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> September 9th, 1998<br/>
Fine I'll use it.<br/>
I admit, it's rather<br/>
<strike>comforting</strike> all right to know that there is an anonymous someone-else<br/>
on the other end. Someone else who feels something akin to what I do.<br/>
(Even if you never happen to open yours again)  </span></p><p><span class="font-midblue">Well. Today was less than ideal.<br/>
I was hexed in the arse with a Stinging Jinx. I didn't see who it was.<br/>
Needless to say, my arse is fucking swollen and red, hurts like hell to sit. I know, poor me. Ha ha.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry felt his anger rising. It’d been a while since he’d gotten riled up over anything … </p><p>But who does that? Jinxes someone behind their back? If he'd been there, he would've stopped it.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> September 11th, 1998<br/>
I scared off some Fourth Year Gryffindors who were pointing their wands at some First Year Slytherins. It felt a little good. Noble, perhaps. Must be what Harry Potter feels like every moment of every day. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Was that a jab? He decided to ignore it; people certainly had their own ideas of who he was, ideas he has no control over. And that’s okay. As his Mind Healer had helped him realise: he can be whoever he wants to be, he exists for himself and not anyone else. But … the bigger issue here is what those Gryffindors had done ...<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> September 18th, 1998<br/>
Jelly-Legs Curse.<br/>
Delightful.<br/>
So dignified to crawl back to one’s dormitory. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry was furious now; his blood was pumping. He grabbed a quill to scribble a response.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> You’re being bullied??<br/>
Have you told anyone? A professor? Your parents?<br/>
There must be someone who can help?<br/>
I could help you!<br/>
Just tell me who you are and I’ll walk with you to classes and meals </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry waited anxiously for a response. It finally came, about 15 minutes later.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> That is<br/>
kind of you.<br/>
But, no thank you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Why not?<br/>
And you’re avoiding my questions </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes, I am </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Come on!<br/>
Can’t I do anything? Anything at all? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Thank you, no.<br/>
It’s all fine. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> How can you say that? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Perhaps I deserve it? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I don’t see how you could possibly </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Well, you don’t know me. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Not yet? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Remains to be seen. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry found himself gaping at the page, at a loss for what to do. He had not felt this worked-up in a while. It was frustrating, maddening, to want to help someone and to be in a position to help them, only to be shot down. Well, he was going to do something anyway, he thought to himself stubbornly. </p><p>So the next morning, before breakfast, he went to see McGonagall in her office. And it looked much the same. Harry was struck with how odd it still was, being there, and knowing that Professor Dumbledore wasn’t going to walk in.  </p><p>Professor McGonagall sat across from him at Dumbledore’s old desk, looking stern and stoic, with palms pressed together and held against her chin. 'How are you?'</p><p>Harry blinked at her, not expecting that question. 'Ah. Fine. Er, thanks.'</p><p>Before he could ask how <i>she</i> was, McGonagall went straight to the point, ‘And what brings you here, Mr Potter?’ </p><p>‘Someone is being bullied,’ he blurted. </p><p>‘“Someone”?’ She raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her seat; her expression rather grim. ‘I take it this person wishes to remain anonymous?’ </p><p>‘Yeah. They do. They’re being jinxed in the halls, when their back is turned.’ </p><p>‘I see,’ she mused, tilting her head to the right thoughtfully. ‘And is this “someone” a member of Slytherin house?’ </p><p>Were they? ‘Um, it’s possible … Professor.’ </p><p>‘There have been several cases of hexes in the halls, directed almost exclusively on Slytherins, I’m afraid. Have you any suggestions, then, as to how to rectify the problem?’ </p><p>Harry’s mind was a blank; he blinked at her and tried to think. What could be done? Install security cameras? That probably wasn’t even possible, not to mention the privacy ramifications. </p><p>‘Well, I know what Albus would do. A clever speech, some rallying words.’ McGonagall sighed, turning to Dumbledore’s currently empty portrait on the wall. ‘How we do miss him.’ </p><p>Harry cast her a sad smile. ‘We do.’   </p><p>She pushed a round tin across the desk. ‘Have a biscuit, Potter.’</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>But, to Harry’s surprise, Professor McGonagall didn’t make a rousing speech that day, or the next. So Harry wrote a note to check in with his journal-mate.<p> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> How have you been? Any more hexes? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I’m fine.<br/>
In fact, how about you use this as your diary for a while. You know enough about my pathetic existence, it’s about time you tell me about yours instead. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I’ve hardly learnt anything about you!<br/>
Let’s recap: you have a mother, you don’t really want to be here, you aren’t a First Year, and people have been hexing you<br/>
That’s not much to go on </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Regardless, it’s your turn </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Another thing: you frequently ignore large chunks of what I’m saying </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yeah, yeah. I’ll be waiting for three entries. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
So bossy, so secretive. Harry shook his head in disbelief.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Fine. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He closed the journal, and opened up his Potions textbook instead. If his journal-mate didn’t want to work through a solution to the hexing together, he might as well get some actual schoolwork done. </p><p>Harry pulled out a strip of parchment paper, and began to write his essay on the effects of bat tongues in revival-type potions, but his eye kept straying to the journal. </p><p>After approximately the twentieth time of this, Harry sighed and shoved his homework away, picking up the journal again. He opened to a fresh page and started writing, just spur of the moment stuff—just random thoughts as they came.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Sept. 21/98<br/>
What is life like for me, then? Well… you know when something feels like a transition phase?<br/>
This is that. The in-between, the limbo.<br/>
But the thing is: I don’t know what’s next. It’s just a big, giant, gaping nothing. Which is, quite frankly, terrifying. What do you do with that? What do other people do?<br/>
I suppose they fill it with things and careers and families and keep themselves busy.<br/>
But I… can’t. I don’t know how to explain it. I just don’t want all that. Not anymore.  </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I don’t even know what I want. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Maybe I don’t want anything? Maybe I might as well be a houseplant, rather than a person? </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">It’s like I don’t have any purpose. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">I feel alone most of the time too, and I never used to feel that way at Hogwarts. Hogwarts used to be… the best thing I had going for me.<br/>
Now everything is a big question mark.<br/>
That’s… how I feel. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Merlin, that was depressing. But it felt nice to get it out. Maybe his Mind Healer was on to something. </p><p>With a deep breath, he closed the journal, and returned to his essay, feeling a little bit lighter.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>The next evening, on a Tuesday, Dean was in Seamus’s bed and Hermione was in Ron’s. Neville was still out, presumably with Hannah Abbott someplace.<p>Harry couldn’t hear anything, thanks to a Muffliato. But just knowing what was going on in the same room as him, behind the curtains, was pretty uncomfortable. Like … it was nice they all had each other. But it was hard to be truly happy about it when he was sitting on his bed alone. </p><p>Well, he’d might as well write out his feelings again, then.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Sept. 22/98<br/>
Is everyone in love?<br/>
In the common room, the Great Hall, my bloody <span class="u">dorm room</span>, it’s all couples. Mooning all over each other.<br/>
It’s really boring to be surrounded by that all the time. And isolating... When you don’t have that yourself.<br/>
It’s kind of selfish, isn’t it? The idea of just spending all your time with your significant other, ignoring all your other friends.  </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Me—I'm not sure I’m a fan of the whole thing.<br/>
I’ve been with someone once, as a proper couple. And it was all right, but I didn’t ignore my friends. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">Though maybe I’ve only ever felt infatuation, then?<br/>
I mean, it was fun sometimes and I enjoyed the snogging. But I didn’t, like, dedicate my every waking moment to that person.<br/>
I wonder what real love is like, then, if it’s worth all the hype. If it would even make <span class="u">me</span> forget about everything else besides that one person. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Wednesday was unremarkable, but Harry wrote an entry anyway.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Sept. 23/98<br/>
I don’t have any new thoughts today.<br/>
I think I might be boring.<br/>
That’s a depressing thought in itself. Maybe I need to take up a hobby. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Well... I had a hobby, but it’s not something I can do at school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">All I can do is homework. And when I’m not doing homework, I’m stewing in my own feelings. I hate it. But I don’t know what else to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I’m unhappy. But I still hold on to hope, despite everything. And I’m much better than I was, that’s something to focus on.<br/>
I just want to be 100% myself again though, you know?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">But I’ve lost myself.  </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">It’s like searching for something, but you’ve forgotten what it is. And you just... hope you’ll know it when you see it. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry sighed, thinking wistfully of his kitchen at Grimmauld Place and the piles of cooking books he’d barely made a dent on.  </p><p>Anyway, that was three. Three journal entries. He felt a bit exposed, but also … liberated? There was nothing there to indicate he was Harry Potter—he could be nearly anyone. </p><p>It wasn’t long before a response started to appear.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> That first entry of yours was difficult to read. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry flipped the page to look back at it—his cursive wasn’t <i>that</i> bad. Seemed legible enough. He flipped back to find another sentence:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Because it reminds me of me. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Oh.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> I was going to reply, but, I stopped myself. I said I’d wait for three entries after all. Can’t let you off easy.<br/>
So. We are a miserable pair, aren’t we?<br/>
Fair warning: I’ve most likely never made a good decision in my life, and I am far from a paragon of virtue.<br/>
That said, I want to say something, and you can ignore it all you wish. </span></p><p><span class="font-midblue">You don’t have to have anything figured out right now. Not a single thing.<br/>
All you have to be responsible for is getting through the day.<br/>
You need to eat something, sleep, attend classes if you want.<br/>
That’s it.<br/>
Then the next day, you do it again. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Inexplicably, tears welled up in Harry’s eyes. In the back of his mind, he knew he’d have to make some choices eventually; he’d have to face the future. Maybe he’ll be an Auror like everyone expects. Marry a nice person, have kids. Carve out some sort of life and have it all documented in The Prophet ... his every move judged by the wizarding community.  </p><p>But for now, the notion that it was acceptable to live one day at a time, that he had <i>permission</i> to, felt like an immense relief. It was such a simple concept, he wished it had occurred to him earlier.  </p><p>One day at a time … he could do that. </p><p>Harry hadn’t realised how much pressure he’d been putting on himself, and how much guilt he carried from being stagnant. He was supposed to have a path in life, a career. To be somebody. To fill the hole that was left over from already accomplishing what had always been his life’s goal: the triumph over Voldemort.  </p><p>Everyone was expecting things of him—great things. They always had. Harry’d had enormous expectations put on him—since birth really, since the prophecy.  </p><p>Now, though, he felt … lighter.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Break things up into smaller pieces if you have to.<br/>
If a day is too long, make it an hour. So, all you have to do is get through the hour.<br/>
Then, when the hour is up, you do that again with the next hour. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I hope that helps, even if a little.<br/>
It helps me. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">As for what you said about love, I’ve noticed that too.<br/>
A lot of couples.<br/>
I think it’s because of the war.<br/>
It made everyone realise that life can be rather short, that they have to go after what they want, who they want. While they still can.<br/>
The time is now, carpe diem, and all that. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Did you? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> What, go after who I want?<br/>
Merlin, no. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Why not? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> You’re making an assumption that there is someone I want. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> You said “Merlin, no”, not “No, because there isn’t anyone I currently like that way” </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ugh.<br/>
Fine.<br/>
Maybe there is one person.<br/>
Not that it’s any of your business. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> And? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> And it’s not going to happen.<br/>
End of story. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Do you love them? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Does it matter? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I’m just curious, what does being in love feel like? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> You’re being rather intrusive, don’t you think? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> We don’t know each other, so what’s the harm in talking about it? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
A pause.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Fine. I suppose that’s true. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">But it isn’t easy to describe.<br/>
And I can only write about the unrequited sort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">It’s… like wanting the best for someone, needing them to be happy and safe.<br/>
Even if that comes at great personal cost to yourself.<br/>
Even if that means keeping away from them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">It’s… a warm little flame in the centre of your chest.<br/>
It’s an ache; a miserable, terrible, painful ache.<br/>
But it’s also life, and someone’s cheek dimples, and not being able to breathe properly around them.<br/>
It’s home in the form of a person, it’s comfort.<br/>
It’s wanting to know and be known.<br/>
It’s… pretty much fucking everything. Everything that matters.<br/>
Merlin that was so bloody saccharine of me. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Well. What do you think? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> That… that sounds good </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ha! I suppose </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I think you should tell them. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred">“The time is now, carpe diem, and all that”-you </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Impossible. Trust me on that. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Well, okay. All right. But </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Forget about it. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Okay. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Anyway, I don’t think you need to worry about love.<br/>
You're bound to fall in love sometime.<br/>
If you want to, that is. Though you may not have a choice in the matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Sometimes you never really see it coming.<br/>
It just hits you one day like a Bludger.<br/>
Other times, it’s slow, like you didn’t even notice it growing, until you wake up and realise it’s always been there. Maybe it’s been there for years. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">I’m not sure why I’m writing all this. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Which was it for you? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> I don’t know. Both, perhaps. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">And about your third entry: I suspect you aren’t boring, just bored. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Maybe. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> I’m... unhappy too.<br/>
And I’d also say I want to be 100% myself again, except I don’t know who that person is either. Maybe, in my case, they’re not a person worth being.  </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">It’s late, we should sleep. Good night. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
That seemed abrupt. Harry felt a little disappointed. He hadn’t even gotten to comment on his journal-mate's advice about one day at a time, all he’d done was pester them about something very personal, about love. Reluctantly, he wrote:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Good night. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry closed his journal softly, and took a deep breath. That’d all felt significant, somehow. Dense, like he was going to have to unpack it all more slowly. He fell asleep clutching the journal to his chest.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>The next day, between Charms and Care of Magical Creatures, Harry rounded a corner, just as he heard the Pimple Jinx being cast, '<i>Furnunculus</i>.’<p>Purely on reflex, he caught the collar of a Fifth Year Gryffindor right while the boy tried to run off. </p><p>‘What’s going on—’ Harry started to ask. </p><p>Before he could finish, a pimple-faced Draco Malfoy began shooting Stinging Hexes at the both of them. </p><p>‘Ow! What the fuck, Malfoy?’ Harry snarled, rubbing at the rapidly swelling sore on his leg with his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding on to the (now yelping) Gryffindor boy. </p><p>‘Lemme go!’ demanded the boy. </p><p>‘No! What’s this all about, who started it?’ </p><p>Harry could practically <i>feel</i> Malfoy’s eyes roll. ‘Mind your own business, Potter, and kindly <i>fuck off</i>.’ </p><p>Harry glared at the pimply man. ‘No, seriously, what was that?’ The Gryffindor boy squirmed, trying to get out of Harry’s strong grip on his robes. </p><p>Malfoy sneered back at him, though it lost a little of its impact on account of the growing boils on his face. ‘Still got a Hero Complex eh, Potter? Can’t resist sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? Well here’s some news for you: <i>no one needs you to save them</i>. The war is over, maybe you should act like it.’ </p><p>Well that actually fucking stung ... ‘Oh <i>fuck you</i>, Malfoy. I wouldn’t expect <i>you</i> to recognise it when someone’s just being decent. Doing the bare minimum of what it takes to be a proper human being.’ </p><p>‘Fuck off, get over yourself.’ And with that, Malfoy stormed off, presumably to get a potion for his face. </p><p>Harry glared at the retreating back. He’d almost forgotten the Fifth Year, until he registered the pull of the fabric on his hand. Harry tightened his grip and swung the boy around to face him. </p><p>‘So, how about you tell me what that was all about?’ Harry demanded. </p><p>The boy had the nerve to scowl. ‘He’s a Death Eater. He deserves punishment for what his kind did.’ </p><p>Harry set his mouth in a firm line. ‘That’s not for you to decide. And attacking someone is <i>illegal</i>. I’m reporting you to McGonagall, I hope you get expelled.’ </p><p>‘No! Please, Harry—’ </p><p>Harry stormed off. </p><p>Professor McGonagall only gave the kid a detention.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>‘Draco Malfoy is still an arsehole,’ Harry informed Hermione and Ron at dinner, since they weren’t currently making out.<p>Ron laughed. ‘What now?’ </p><p>‘I saw him get jinxed by a Fifth Year Gryffindor. I did what any decent person would do, and I asked what happened, kept the kid from running off.’ Harry shrugged. ‘Malfoy didn’t take it well.’ </p><p>‘Tosser,’ said Ron. </p><p>Hermione hummed thoughtfully. ‘He was probably embarrassed.’ </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘What? Him?’ That couldn’t be embarrassment. Embarrassment was blushing and fumbling over words and lack of eye contact. Malfoy had been seething and cruel. As usual, Harry supposed. </p><p>Hermione shrugged. ‘Think about it. He'd been on the losing side of the war; he’d made poor choices and it nearly killed him and his family. Now he’s getting attacked by younger years, by kids? And Harry of all people, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the person whom Malfoy once thought himself equal to, has to be the one to witness it? Has to come rushing in, ready to easily fix everything as always? It’s embarrassing. It’s a matter of pride.’ </p><p>That didn’t sit well with Harry. It almost made Malfoy seem … understandable, human. But he gave an easy, not-thought-out, response anyway. ‘Still a git.’ </p><p>Ron laughed, and raised his glass of pumpkin juice. ‘Here, here.’ </p><p>‘And I don’t have a Saviour Complex,’ he muttered. He glanced at Malfoy across the Hall—just eating his meal with his head down. </p><p>Hermione reached over to pat his arm. ‘You’re a kind person, Harry. You see something wrong and you want to right it. There’s nothing the matter with that.’ </p><p>He smiled at her, grateful. It felt so good to have his friends back—maybe the honeymoon phase of their relationship was finally settling down.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div><span class="font-midblue"> I’m an idiot.</span><p><span class="font-brickred"> What happened? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> I lost my temper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I am so stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">And I’m so tired of being powerless.<br/>
I’m sick of it.<br/>
I hate being weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">And I keep falling into old patterns of behaviour. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">I want to be better. I should be better. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Hey, stop.<br/>
You’re not an idiot, and you aren’t weak or powerless. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> You don’t know that. You don’t know me. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I don’t have to.<br/>
You don’t write like an idiot.<br/>
Idiots aren’t half as eloquent as you are. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ha! Okay. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Want to tell me what happened? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Definitely not. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Ha ha all right, didn’t think so </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I hope you’ll be more gentle with yourself though.<br/>
I know it’s not easy to do, but...<br/>
Well, the Mind Healer I saw over the summer had me talk to myself as if I were talking to my best friend.<br/>
But it could be anyone close to you... your mum, for example.<br/>
Like, try to talk to yourself like you were your mum.<br/>
You’d be a lot kinder, right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I just mean, be easy on yourself. Please.<br/>
We’re all going through something, especially now, after the war.<br/>
Give yourself time.<br/>
You won’t be better overnight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Just try to think about how you can make it so that you don’t lose your temper next time.<br/>
Just, you know, go easy. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">Sorry, I’m rambling. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry didn’t get a response straight away, and he worried he’d said something wrong. He’d never been very good at advice, really. Maybe he should’ve asked Hermione first about what she’d say to someone in that position. It was several minutes before a response showed up.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Thank you. </span></p><p><span class="font-midblue">You saw a Mind Healer? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yeah... she’s great.<br/>
I could give you her name and Floo address, if you’d like?<br/>
I mean, no pressure.<br/>
If you happen to be interested.<br/>
She really helped me. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes.<br/>
Please. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
So Harry scribbled in Moira’s details, then they said goodnight. He sincerely hoped that what he said had helped, even if only slightly. Harry wanted to be able to help, just as his journal-mate had already helped him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading so far ❤️</p><p>(I've been working on this old thing for 1.5 years ... at a certain point you gotta stop your polishing and put the thing in the shop window, I guess)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, at breakfast, Professor McGonagall stood up to speak to them all.  </p><p><i>About time</i>, Harry thought to himself. </p><p>‘May I have your attention,’ Professor McGonagall began, surveying the students slowly. ‘It is my understanding that there have been several attacks in the hallways. Most notably, on our Slytherin students.’ Her eyes narrowed. </p><p>Harry’s gaze snapped to the Slytherin table. Was his journal-mate among them? Most of the Slytherins were watching McGonagall with grim faces. Some looked out-right angry. Malfoy was different though, with his head resting on his hand, and eyes cast downwards. </p><p>‘In these last weeks, we’ve made preparations for an experiment. One I hope that will help unify us, and stop this violence.’ </p><p>Harry’s attention whipped back to McGonagall; he had no idea where she was going with this, but he was glad something was finally being done. </p><p>‘Slytherin House will be moving into the Hufflepuff dorms.’ </p><p>The Great Hall went wild. Some Slytherins loudly protested. Some <i>Hufflepuffs</i> loudly protested. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws whispered frantically to each other. It was deafening. </p><p>‘Silence!’ McGonagall called. ‘The Slytherin belongings are going to be transferred to Hufflepuff House today. And after everything is cleared out, the Slytherin dorms are closed. Hufflepuff will be rearranged so that each dorm room fits two Slytherin students with two Hufflepuff students. I don’t want to hear any complaints until you’ve slept at least one night with these new arrangements. That is all.’ </p><p><i>Wow,</i> Harry thought, blinking rapidly. <i>Just, wow.</i> </p><p>The Gryffindors around him exchanged baffled looks. Harry had a feeling this would be interesting, to say the least.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div><span class="font-midblue">  Help. I’m surrounded by Hufflepuffs. </span><p><span class="font-brickred"> Ha ha, so you <span class="u">are</span> in Slytherin then. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Afraid so.<br/>
You’re not a Hufflepuff, are you? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Ah, I don’t want to ruin the mystery </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> You know what my house is.<br/>
It’s only fair I should know yours. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Is it? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> I’m rolling my eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Yes. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Obviously. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Fine.<br/>
But you’re not going to like it. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ah. That means you’re Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, then. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I like Ravenclaws. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Do you?  </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">Is your crush in Ravenclaw? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> None of your business. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">And you’re avoiding my question. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Doesn’t feel good when someone else does it, eh?<br/>
Ha ha </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">All right, I’m in Gryffindor </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I guess we can’t communicate anymore. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Such a shame, I was starting to like you. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Ha! </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">Yeah right, I know you already find me irresistible </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Is that so? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yes, I’m quite sure </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Damn, it was almost as if they were flirting. Harry didn’t know where that’d come from, didn’t know <i>why</i>, but it was ... fun. Harry’s heartrate picked up. He hardly knew anything about this other person, he didn’t even know their gender. </p><p>But, that didn’t matter, now did it? Another thing he’d come to terms with over the summer: he’s a tremendous bisexual. There are Chos and Ginnys, along with Charlies and Olivers out there, after all.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Fine, but you’re on a probationary period.<br/>
I’ll have to see just how Gryffindor-ish you can be. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Sure, sure<br/>
Whatever you say </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Watch yourself!<br/>
Anyway, there’s a Hufflepuff trying to talk to me.<br/>
I’d better go.<br/>
Night. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Goodnight </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry bit his bottom lip, and closed his journal. He wanted to know who the person on the other end was, quite badly.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>So, as expected, there were a lot of complaints about the new arrangements.<p>Until, there weren’t. </p><p>A peculiar thing was happening: it was as if the Hufflepuffs were adopting the Slytherins. Their tables in the Great Hall mixed, they walked to classes together. They were even planning a house-warming party for the upper-years on Friday night (the younger years were doing a Saturday afternoon Quidditch match to celebrate).  </p><p>Harry found it fascinating to watch, like having live entertainment during meals. For example, there was Pansy Parkinson, looking mean and saying something with a sour twist to her mouth, and then the two Hufflepuff girls on either side of her were bursting out into giggles. Pansy would smile with satisfaction, though the smile was tiny and easy to miss.  </p><p>‘It worked,’ Harry said out loud. </p><p>‘Hmm?’ Ron asked, distracted. </p><p>Harry turned to him. ‘Oh, just McGonagall’s plan. It’s worked.’ </p><p>‘Mm,’ Ron said, through a mouthful of potatoes now. ‘S’pose.’ </p><p>Harry turned back to watch.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>The next day, at lunch, Harry noticed Pansy Parkinson stand up from the Hufflepuff table and make strides toward the Gryffindor table. She looked behind herself and was given an encouraging nod by her Hufflepuff friend, a pretty younger girl, either a Sixth or Seventh Year—Harry didn’t know her name. She had dark-skin and a coiled bun of braids pinned high on her head, wearing bright red lipstick.<p>To his surprise, it turned out to be Harry who Pansy approached. </p><p>‘Potter,’ she said harshly. ‘A word?’ </p><p>This was weird, but Harry nodded anyhow. </p><p>Pansy hesitated; her eyes darting to the others at Harry’s table, who were, understandably, waiting to see what might unfold. So in order to grant the two of them a small semblance of privacy from the watchful eyes, he stood up from the bench, and walked the few steps toward her. </p><p>Pansy bit at her lip—she wore dark purple lipstick today. It suited her. She was all contrast: pale skin, dark hair, dark clothes. Harry watched those big, heavily-lashed eyes flicker over to the Hufflepuff table again. Harry’s gaze followed hers and spotted Pansy’s Hufflepuff friend grinning at her, flashing a thumbs up. </p><p>‘I’m sorry,’ Pansy said, slowly bringing her eyes back to Harry’s face. ‘For trying to give you away to Voldemort.’ </p><p>Harry huffed a laugh, more out of surprise than humour. That was not what he’d ever expect to hear from her. She eyed him sharply, her mouth twisting into a frown. </p><p>‘I mean it,’ she continued. ‘I thought that … I thought it was the right thing to do, to save everyone else. But I was wrong.’ </p><p>Harry was … touched, actually. ‘It’s all right. I get it.’ It was one life pitted against many, after all.  </p><p>Pansy’s expression softened. ‘You do? You see, it wasn’t personal. But, I regret it, all the same. I’ve come to realise that we’re all stronger together, you know?’ </p><p>Harry nodded. ‘Thank you, for saying all this.’ </p><p>Pansy smiled, actually <i>smiled</i>, at him. So, Harry smiled back. </p><p>‘Can we … hug? It’s … it’s a Hufflepuff thing.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘They’re rubbing off on me, you see.’ </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘Sure.’ </p><p>So Pansy Parkinson went up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck. She smelled of raspberries and felt small in his arms. It was a good hug—a tight one. </p><p>Pansy broke away, and awkwardly mumbled a, ‘Well then,’ before nodding sharply just the once, and hurrying off back to the Hufflepuff table. Her friend grinned at her, following Pansy’s hasty retreat—while looking very proud.  </p><p>Harry’s eyes caught on Draco Malfoy’s—looking back at him with an open, naked expression. Malfoy’s cheeks had coloured a blotchy pink; his jaw slackened. </p><p>Harry frowned at him. <i>See, Malfoy? This is another example of how decent human beings act around each other.</i> </p><p>Malfoy’s expression quickly twisted into a scowl, and he looked away. </p><p>
  <i>Git.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry thought about that hug when he was alone in his bed that evening, with curtains closed.<p>Pansy was pretty. More than pretty. She had an edge to her that was dangerous and exciting. Like he could cut himself on her ribs and bleed, and not even mind. She belonged in a film noir, perched on the side of a desk with long legs and shining black hair. He could be the detective, and her: the stereotypical woman in distress. She’d lick her lips slowly, she’d run a hand over his pantleg, up to his crotch. </p><p><i>Fuck.</i> He was hard.  </p><p>Maybe she was the person on the other end of his journal. Maybe he’d been sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings with <i>her</i>. </p><p>He palmed himself through his pyjama bottoms. He thought of her again, perched on a desk, in a long black dress with a slit between the legs, her long legs crossed, hanging off the edge.  </p><p>He freed his cock from his pyjama bottoms then, taking himself in hand, swirling the pre-come around the tip with his thumb. He imagined her spreading her legs slowly, while he watched, and she wasn’t wearing any knickers. He’d push Pansy onto her back on the desk; he’d lean into her and ravish her with his mouth, between those long, pale legs.  </p><p>He stroked himself faster.  </p><p>She’d grab his hair, grind his tongue into her, with her legs wrapped tight around him. Tasting her, hearing her moan his name. <i>Potter</i>. </p><p>He came with a cry. </p><p>Wow ... That'd been ... pretty amazing, actually. Spent and satisfied, he lay for a while, with his arm casually draped over his eyes. His heartrate took its time to slow down, as did his breathing. </p><p>He felt good. He hadn’t wanked like that in a long while. Hadn’t had much of a sex drive at all, really. </p><p>Remembering his journal, Harry cast a quick spell to clean himself up first, before reaching over to his nightstand to take it out. He opened it up, hoping there might be something new written there.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> I’ve met with your Mind Healer over the weekend. She’s given me exercises to do. I… like her. It’s early to say, but I think it might be helping. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I’m trying to be kinder to myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">And I’m trying to let go. To let go of the person I thought I wanted to be before the war happened, to let go of the image of who my parents want me to be now. And to try to let go of some of the guilt I have, that I carry with me.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">So, yes. I’m going to try to be genuine, to show my genuine self, for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">It’s… frightening. But, at the same instance, good? I suppose? Liberating? </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">It’s a weight off my shoulders. I think.<br/>
I don’t have to pretend anymore, to try to appear better/cleverer/tougher/more interesting than I am. I’m just going to try to be myself and let others think what they want, say what they want. It won’t change who I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I’ve already been hexed enough times to count. So, things can’t get worse, I figure. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Merlin... what am I doing. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry grinned, grabbed his quill and wrote:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> That’s amazing!<br/>
Really, I’m so glad to hear!<br/>
And I look forward to getting to know your genuine self better </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Well, thank you. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
They left it at that, and Harry fell asleep feeling happy, light; believing that it could be Pansy on the other end—turning over a new leaf, being herself, apologising to him despite what someone like Malfoy might think.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>It was Friday at lunch, only a few hours before the house-warming party, when Harry saw something so lovely, and completely fucking <i>baffling</i>, all at once.<p>His breath hitched.  </p><p>‘All right, mate?’ Ron asked absentmindedly. </p><p>‘Mmhmm.’ He couldn’t tear his eyes away. </p><p>A tiny, mixed-ethnicity, First Year Hufflepuff with a mountain of black hair and giant brown eyes, was carefully peeling stickers off a wax sheet, and sticking them on to Draco Malfoy’s skin. On his left forearm. Over his Dark Mark. </p><p>He had his shirt sleeve rolled up, resting on the table. His other arm supported his head, as he watched the tiny girl meticulously stick them on, with great care.  </p><p>Her brow furrowed as she concentrated on sticking them on just right with her little fingers.  </p><p>Malfoy’s expression was so soft as he let her work. And his hair didn’t have an ounce of hair gel—it fell loosely from his face in delicate strands, some of which he’d tucked behind an ear. His Slytherin tie was kept loose too, a top button undone.  </p><p>Harry would be hard-pressed to come up with an explanation, a reason, as to why the whole scene seemed the sweetest thing. This was Malfoy, after all. The same Malfoy who repeatedly told him to fuck off a few weeks ago. Told him he has a Hero Complex, told him no one needs his saving.  </p><p>This seemed like a different person altogether. And it was just as fascinating as it made Harry uneasy.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>That night was the Hufflepuff-Slytherin housewarming party. Everyone was going, even Ron and Hermione were taking a break from their every-night-snogging-sessions. Harry joined the group of Seventh and Eighth Year Gryffindors going down together in their common room. He was actually kind of excited—since it was the first party of the year and he felt ready to have some fun.<p>He’d put the confusing images of Draco Malfoy, soft and “stickered”, out of his mind, he’d even put those fleeting ones about Pansy Parkinson out too. Harry was just going to relax, take it easy. Going to try and enjoy himself and not think too much about anything, anything at all. </p><p>Their group walked down together, chatting happily as they went.  </p><p>When they all clambered into Hufflepuff, Harry found that it was not as garish yellow as he thought it would be. It was actually pretty comfortable looking. Warm light from the fireplace and several candles reflected off the shiny hard-wood floors. The combination of cushions and couches, and the surplus of hanging plants, gave it all a homey, cosy feel. And it smelled of cinnamon. It reminded Harry of the Burrow, just with much more open space. </p><p>Seamus had snuck in a big bottle of Ogden’s; so had Blaise Zabini. Cups were being passed around and drinks poured. Harry surveyed the group—everyone looked happy, looked relaxed, while a pop song played softly on the wireless in the background. Warm greetings went around as Slytherins and Hufflepuffs welcomed their Ravenclaw and Gryffindor guests.  </p><p>They certainly had all come a long way, compared to last year. Compared to how this year had started, even. Harry wondered if his journal-mate was there, as he sipped his Firewhisky, and looked out over the rim of the cup. He eyed the Seventh Year Slytherins in particular. He didn’t know any of them really, didn’t know most of their names. His journal-mate could easily be any one of them.  </p><p>Neville came over to speak to Harry about some plant that he was studying, growing in the greenhouse now under Professor Sprout’s careful supervision. Harry spaced out a bit, absorbing the calm atmosphere, just letting Neville talk. As always, Harry just didn’t care about plants. </p><p>His eyes wandered around the room as he nodded and ‘mmhmm’ed in all the right places (he hoped). </p><p>The others were milling about, talking to each other, and laughing. People had spread out, talking in small groups or pairs. </p><p>Harry didn’t know why his eyes had to stray to Malfoy. <i>The stickers</i>. Malfoy stood across the room speaking to Luna Lovegood, of all people, and wore a slate-grey button-down with black trousers. All well-tailored and expensive-looking. He was so … <i>lean</i>.  </p><p>It seemed like Luna was explaining something to him, since she was waving her hands rather adamantly and miming complex shapes. Malfoy smiled a little, nodding along, and tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. Then, suddenly and without a warning, he made sharp eye contact with Harry. <i>Fuck</i>. Caught staring, Harry rushed to look at Neville, to try to focus on whatever plant-related thing he was saying.  </p><p>‘—And that’s why you can’t tickle its leaves,’ Neville was droning on. </p><p>‘Interesting,’ Harry said, not letting his eyes waver from Neville’s face. He quietly vowed to pay attention to their conversation, no matter how terribly boring. </p><p>Later, Harry found himself talking to Blaise Zabini. The drink was starting to make him feel warm, and a little light-headed. Could Blaise be his journal-mate? The idea intrigued him. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about the man—wasn't sure they’d ever had a real conversation before. He was rather handsome, Harry could privately admit to himself.  </p><p>‘How is it for you, living with the Hufflepuffs?’ Harry asked, looking into the deep dark brown of Blaise’s eyes. They were pretty nice looking.  </p><p>‘Mm, it’s good. Change is always difficult at first, but one quickly finds variety is the spice of life, you see?’ </p><p>‘Right, yeah. That’s great,’ said Harry. ‘Were you jinxed in the halls too? Before the move?’ </p><p>‘Oh lord, no,’ Blaise said. ‘I always find it’s best to stay out of the drama. Zabinis don’t pick sides, that’s how we survive. Look at me.’ He gestured to himself, grinning. ‘I am unscathed.’ </p><p>Not his journal-mate, then. </p><p>‘Right,’ said Harry. He wasn’t sure he liked Blaise Zabini very much after all. It’s just … staying out of things, important things, and never taking a stand for what you believe in, wasn’t Harry’s way. They probably would never see eye-to-eye on that. He knocked the rest of his whisky back. </p><p>Harry excused himself to refill his empty cup. </p><p>Harry and Malfoy stepped up to the drink table at the same time. Harry hadn’t planned on this; in fact, he’d been avoiding looking at Malfoy ever since he was caught staring so openly at him. But now … now they were in each other’s space, and Harry couldn’t avoid looking at him now.  </p><p>He got to see the un-gelled hair up close. It was even lighter in colour without hair gel, nearly white. It seemed soft. </p><p>Harry cleared his throat, and picked up the bottle of Ogden’s. Without thinking too much on it, he held the bottle out towards Malfoy’s cup. </p><p>Malfoy hesitated for a beat before lifting it, allowing Harry to pour for him. The silence between them felt weighted somehow. Heavy. </p><p>‘Thanks,’ Malfoy muttered, without looking him in the eye. He raised his cup in a gesture of cheers, and turned to leave. </p><p>‘I saw you today,’ Harry blurted. ‘At lunch.’ </p><p>Malfoy turned back around, with a hesitant, tentative look on his face. </p><p>Harry swallowed, and inwardly he was panicking. Why did he have to say that? Now he had to follow up that sentence with something. Anything. <i>Anything … </i> Anything? ‘What were the stickers?’ </p><p>Malfoy looked at Harry blankly for a beat, then moved his fingers to his left cuff, unbuttoning it and rolling up his sleeve in just a few easy movements. He stretched out his bare arm to show to Harry. ‘Butterflies,’ Malfoy said, quietly, as a muscle shifted in his jaw. </p><p>The stickers sparkled, catching the light, and came in a rainbow of colours. His Dark Mark was completely covered by them. Harry smiled down at them, he couldn’t help it. What had gotten into him? It was the Firewhisky, surely. </p><p>‘Here,’ said Malfoy, as he lowered his lashes, pinching off a pink butterfly from his wrist and sticking it to the back of Harry’s hand. His fingers were cold where they brushed against Harry’s skin. Goosebumps travelled up his arm. </p><p>Harry huffed a breathy laugh, raising his hand to inspect it. ‘Thanks.’ </p><p>Malfoy nodded, smiled a little, and wandered off. </p><p>And Harry was left wondering at all that, with hand frozen mid-air. Like, <i>what was that</i>? </p><p>Without answers, he found himself talking to Luna next, but he was distracted. He kept touching the sticker on his hand, tracing its outline. Why on earth had Malfoy given it to him? </p><p>This all felt wrong-footed somehow. </p><p>‘What were you talking to Malfoy about earlier?’ he wondered aloud, interrupting whatever creature she’d been prattling on about. Thankfully he’d managed to speak quietly enough so no one would overhear him asking. (He was blurting stuff out far too much lately.) </p><p>Luna smiled, dreamily. ‘Oh, I was just reminiscing with him about the wonderful tea he used to bring me. When I lived in his basement.’ </p><p>That caught his full attention. ‘You mean his dungeon?!’ he hissed. ‘Where you were captured?’ </p><p>Luna sighed, frowning. ‘I suppose so, Harry. It just sounds so much unpleasanter that way, though.’ </p><p>Harry was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Wasn’t it, though? <i>Unpleasant</i>?’ </p><p>‘Sometimes. But Draco was kind to us. He brought tea and biscuits and talked with us. He tried to reassure us, that you were going to defeat Voldemort soon and we’d all be free again.’ </p><p>Harry clenched his jaw, searching Luna’s rather-calm face. He could try to argue with her, tell her that tea and biscuits couldn’t possibly make up for everything, but maybe it was better to drop it. This was a party, after all. ‘Okay … and what was so special about the tea?’ </p><p>Luna’s eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands together loudly. ‘Oh it was <i>delicious</i>. They grow and harvest it themselves, it’s so fresh and robust. He is going to give me a tin. I’ll ask him to give one to you, too.’ </p><p>‘Um, no, that’s okay,’ Harry protested. </p><p>‘No, no, Harry. You will want to try it. I’m quite serious.’ </p><p>He didn’t know what to say. </p><p>‘Spin-the-bottle! Oi! We’re playing spin-the-bottle!’ came an announcement made by a rather inebriated Seamus Finnegan. </p><p>Luna giggled beside Harry. She grabbed his arm and led him to sit in the large circle forming on the floor in the middle of the common room. Er, he wasn’t too sure about this— </p><p>‘I’ll go first,’ said Pansy, with a devious expression on her face as she held on to Malfoy’s wrist. He looked like he was ready to bolt at any moment himself. </p><p>‘What are the rules?’ asked Hermione; her voice a little slurred, and eyes a little glazed. She had a happy little smile on her face too. </p><p>Seamus explained, 'If the bottle lands on you, you have to kiss the spinner for at least ten seconds!’ </p><p>‘But what if you refuse to kiss someone?’ asked Parvati. </p><p>‘Then you must take a shot of this!’ Seamus said dramatically, pulling a bright pink bottle out from his robe pocket. ‘It’s bubble-gum flavour!’ </p><p>‘Ew.’ Parvati grimaced. </p><p>Pansy crawled to the centre of the circle and spun the empty Ogden’s bottle. It spun and spun and spun until it landed on Neville. </p><p>Neville gulped; Pansy looked almost predatory.  </p><p>‘C’mere, Longbottom,’ she said with a sly smile, rising to her feet. </p><p>He obeyed, standing and walking to meet her in the centre. Harry watched on in awe, as the pair closed their eyes and brought their lips together in a long, closed-mouth kiss. So weird. They would make the oddest couple. </p><p>Then it was Neville’s turn to spin. He landed on … Ernie. That was an awkward kiss. They clearly weren’t enjoying it. This went on for a bit, as Harry kept sipping his drink. He was getting a good buzz going. </p><p>Ron kissed Blaise. Ron’s face turned bright red, while Blaise looked as suave and calm as ever. Hermione cheered. </p><p>Blaise kissed Hannah. Hannah kissed Terry.  </p><p>Terry spun, and it landed on Malfoy. </p><p>Harry watched closely, not able to look <i>anywhere</i> else, as Malfoy calmly stood to meet Terry in the middle. Without hesitation, Malfoy laced his fingers through the hair behind Terry’s ears, his thumbs on Terry’s jawline.  </p><p>It was like time slowed down, watching them. Malfoy brought his lips closer and closer to Terry’s.  </p><p>Harry sucked in a shaky breath.  </p><p>Their lips met, and Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered closed. They kissed and kissed, they parted their lips, letting tongues tentatively touch. Taste.  </p><p>Harry could see the pinkness of Malfoy’s tongue peeking out from his vantage point. </p><p>They moved so slowly, seemingly to savour it. Terry moaned against Malfoy’s mouth. He fucking moaned. </p><p>Harry’s own mouth went dry; something churned, ugly and foreign, in his stomach. </p><p>‘Time!’ Seamus called. </p><p>It was done. They pulled apart and Terry looked a little rumpled. He walked back to his seat in a daze. </p><p>So Malfoy, cool and calm, raked fingers through his hair, and proceeded to lean down to spin the bottle. </p><p>It kept spinning for what felt like an eternity. </p><p>Then it slowed. <i>Oh no.</i> </p><p>Then it stopped. <i>Oh fuck.</i> </p><p>On Harry. </p><p>Their eyes met. Malfoy’s expression was blank, but there was a sharpness to his eyes. </p><p>Fuck, Harry was going to <i>kiss</i> Draco Malfoy. </p><p>Like he had just kissed Terry. </p><p>Would Malfoy hold Harry’s face in his hands the same way? Would his eyelashes flutter closed, too? Would it be a chaste, close-mouthed kiss? Or something open—deep? Would their tongues touch, rub up against the other’s? Explore each other’s mouths? Taste the liquor on each other’s tongues? How soft were his lips? </p><p>Harry leaned forward; he was going to get up. His traitorous heart pounded against his ribs, seemingly <i>excited</i>; the room had started to shrink in on itself. </p><p>‘I’ll take the shot,’ said Malfoy. </p><p>It took a second for that to sink in. </p><p><i>Oh</i>. </p><p>It was like a bubble burst, or a balloon popped. Harry slumped back. </p><p><i>Right. Of course.</i> </p><p>Of course Malfoy would rather drink Bubble-gum liquor than kiss him. </p><p>I mean, it was a no-brainer, really. Malfoy hated him. They had … hated … each other ... </p><p>So … why did it feel like a wound?  </p><p>Why did it feel like … rejection? </p><p>It was silly. Stupid of Harry. </p><p>The game itself was stupid, childish. What were they even doing? They were 17-year-olds, 18-year-olds. They were too old for this. </p><p>Harry watched Malfoy throw back that shot of pink liquid into that stupid mouth. Watched his stupid face scrunch up in a grimace. </p><p>Then Luna’s hand was softly pressed against Harry’s thigh, and her hair brushing over his arm. She was whispering in his ear, kindly, gently. ‘It’s your turn to spin, Harry.’ </p><p>So Harry picked himself up, walked to the centre, and spun the bloody bottle. </p><p>It landed on Dean. </p><p>And so they kissed—and it was nice. Harry held his hand softly against Dean’s throat, he could feel a pulse beating against the pads of his fingers. The other hand gripped Dean’s strong bicep. Harry didn’t remember choosing to put his hands anywhere—they were just there. And Dean’s hands were set low on Harry’s hips, squeezing in pulses, keeping him close. </p><p>The kiss felt comfortable and slow. Born out of 7 years of friendship and made easy with alcohol. Harry ran his tongue over Dean’s bottom lip, before gaining entry. Dean sucked on it. Their tongues danced a lazy, sweet dance. It was all automatic—Harry barely registered any of it. Dean was the one that pulled away, in the end. </p><p>‘You’re a fucking good kisser, Harry,’ he said with a breathy laugh, tapping Harry’s cheek lightly with his fingers. His lips looked a little swollen, his eyes glassy. </p><p>‘Oi! Don’t go getting any ideas!’ Seamus joked. </p><p>People laughed. Harry smiled weakly, and made his way back to his spot beside Luna. He was quite determined to avoid looking at that arsehole Malfoy again. </p><p>Dean kissed Hermione. Hermione kissed Padma. </p><p>Harry didn’t want to do this anymore.  </p><p>He leaned over towards Luna. ‘I’m really tired, I’m gonna go back.’ </p><p>She patted his thigh and smiled. ‘Okay Harry, good night.’ </p><p>‘Night.’ </p><p>Harry snuck off quietly, while Padma was kissing Michael Corner. </p><p>The halls outside Hufflepuff were a stark contrast to the inside. Gone were the soft sounds of pop music, the laughter of his schoolmates, the warm lighting. </p><p>The hallways were narrow, barren, and silent. His trainers padding against the floors were the only sounds. It was a lonely feeling. </p><p>Suffice to say, on the quiet walk back to Gryffindor, certain thoughts and feelings were pushing to reach the surface, and he was desperately trying to quash them back down.  </p><p>But his Mind Healer’s voice was in his head, <i>Your feelings are valid and real. Acknowledge them, then allow them to pass.</i> </p><p>Ugh. </p><p>Okay, he was feeling a little down. Upset. It could have something to do with the alcohol; it’s a depressant after all.  </p><p>Draco Malfoy hadn’t wanted to kiss him. </p><p>For some reason, that had been upsetting.  </p><p>Was it about pride? Ego? Like: how dare someone not want to kiss him? </p><p>No, that didn’t feel quite right. </p><p>He wouldn’t give two shits if most of the people in there hadn’t wanted to kiss him. </p><p>So why did he care that Malfoy didn’t? </p><p>Did Harry really want Malfoy to want to kiss Harry? That was a confusing question. </p><p>A simpler question in wording, but much more complex to answer, would be: did Harry want to kiss Malfoy? </p><p>And if so, <i>why</i>? </p><p>Why on Earth would he? </p><p>They’d hated each other. Malfoy was cruel, <i>mean</i>. </p><p>Malfoy's had only about three redeeming, positive moments: his ‘I can’t be sure’ at the Manor, lowering his wand with Dumbledore, and those bloody stickers with that First Year. And Harry didn’t know why he ever even cared about those stickers. They didn’t change anything, not really. </p><p>And those positive moments were weak at best. They didn’t make up for everything else. For calling Hermione a Mudblood, for trying to get Dumbledore killed in the first place and hurting other people in the process, for breaking Harry's nose, for a whole slew of petty bullying. And, for letting Death Eaters into the school. Fuck, that was a big one. </p><p>Granted, he hadn’t had much of a choice. It was that or death, and the death of his family. </p><p>Okay, why was he defending Malfoy? </p><p>Malfoy, who didn’t want to kiss him. </p><p>Fuck. He was an idiot. </p><p><i>Be gentle with yourself</i>. </p><p>All right, he wasn’t a total idiot. </p><p>He remembered what his journal-mate had said. That he didn’t have to have everything figured out. </p><p>He had acknowledged his feelings. He had raised questions that he didn’t have answers to. Yet. </p><p>That was enough. </p><p>He was back at Gryffindor Tower now. He said the password and beelined for his room. He pulled out his journal and scribbled a note.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I’m a little drunk and I need cheering up. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry rubbed his eyes, laughing darkly to himself, about how pathetic he felt. He hoped he’d get a response tonight though.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Fuck. Me too, on both counts. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Is your Ravenclaw Terry Boot? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He didn’t know why he wrote that. He just didn’t want it to be Terry Boot, because Terry Boot was the absolute worst. <i>Moaning</i> like that—who did he think he was?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Salazar, no.<br/>
<span class="u">Fuck no.</span><br/>
And stop trying to guess. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Good. I’m glad it isn’t him. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> What could you possibly have against him?? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Nothing! </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> All right...<br/>
If you say so. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Let’s just talk about something light. Easy. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I’m in complete agreement.<br/>
Suggestions? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I dunno.<br/>
What’s your guilty pleasure wank fantasy? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Fucking <span class="u">hell</span>... Straight to that, huh?</span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Well all right, but you're answering first. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Sure.<br/>
Recently—Pansy Parkinson<br/>
I thought about </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Stop right there! I don’t want to hear it!<br/>
Ugh! </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Wow, okay.<br/>
What’s yours then? Is it soo much better? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes.<br/>
Of course it is.<br/>
Anything is better than thinking about Pansy in that way </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Hey!<br/>
She’s rather good looking! </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Sure, I suppose.<br/>
Maybe we should get something clear, here<br/>
I’m a man, and I’m gay </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Oh </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry’s mind reeled. Which blokes in Slytherin were gay? He couldn’t think of a single one. It wasn’t Malfoy, Malfoy had dated Pansy. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t Blaise Zabini, with all the flirting with females Harry’d witnessed. Theo Nott maybe? Or a Seventh Year?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Is that a problem for you? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Oh! Fuck no.<br/>
Of course not.<br/>
I thought you might be a bloke, just wasn’t sure </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Well I meant the gay part, but fine. Good. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I’m bisexual<br/>
And also a bloke </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Oh. Well, all right. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> So, with that settled... what’s your guilty pleasure wank fantasy then? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I can’t believe I’m actually considering telling you </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yes! Tell me! </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Okay, I suppose I’ll tell you because you’ll never know who I am </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry bit at his lip. “Never”? Surely it’d be nice if <i>one day</i> they decided to meet up, and become actual friends in person … And who knows … they already get along really well, and since they both like blokes …<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Granted, it isn’t an unusual choice...<br/>
Most people in Hogwarts would probably agree<br/>
that he’s fit, and wonderful, and all that </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yeah? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Give me a second! For Merlin’s sake </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Okay, yeah. Take your time. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">It’s Harry Potter. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">And I’ve got a few.<br/>
Fantasies, that is. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry froze. His journal-mate was probably right—there might be a few people with fantasies about him. He was the sodding “Saviour”, after all. It garnered some attention. But that didn’t keep his heart rate from speeding up. He wondered if staying anonymous was really the right thing to do now. But, at the same time, he just couldn’t reveal himself. It was selfish, perhaps. His journal-mate had to know, though, had to know there was a chance that the Gryffindor he was talking to could be Harry Potter. He’d taken that risk. So … it was okay. It had to be. Fuck, he wanted to know what the fantasy was.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Interesting </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> You don’t agree?<br/>
Tell me some blokes you think are fit, then </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> If I did that, you’d be able to narrow down who I am though, right? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Oh. Right. I suppose it’s possible. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Fuck. <i>Fuck</i>. He wanted to be a bit reckless.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> What’s the fantasy? What would you do to Harry Potter? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Or what would he do to me? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Oh lord... You really want to know? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Sure, why not?<br/>
Let’s see what kind of imagination you’ve got </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Merlin. Fine. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">All right give me a moment to pick a good one. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry waited. He wondered what he was doing, what he was getting himself into. But his slightly drunk brain was telling him to just go for it, see what happens.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Okay. I like this one: </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">So I’m at one of those muggle gay clubs, on the dance floor. I’m swaying to the music, it’s dark except for blue light, and there are bodies moving all around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Our eyes meet through the crowd. He’s surprised to see me there, and so am I. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">He pushes through the people. He’s right up close to me, too close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">He’s dancing, I’m dancing. He’s looking at my mouth, I’m looking at his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">His fingertips are on me, on my waist, on my hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Our mouths are so close, we’re panting, I’m breathing in his breath, tasting its heat. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">But he won’t kiss me, we’re moving to the music, barely touching. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry liked where this was going.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> And then he leans in and whispers in my ear, and it sends a shiver up my spine. </span></p><p><span class="font-midblue">He asks, “Do you want to fuck?” </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Wow, that was sudden … But, kind of hot actually.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> I say yes, of course. And we go back to my flat. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">We’re hardly through the door, and he’s ripping off my clothes, leaving me naked. Exposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I try to take his clothes off, he won’t let me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">He’s bending me over my kitchen table, spreading my arse and spitting into the cleft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">He unzips his flies, takes his cock out with one hand, while the other hand is on my back, keeping me still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I try to get a good look at his cock, he won’t let me turn though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">He’s pressing the head of it to my arse, rubbing his saliva around, teasing the hole. I’m pushing back into it, craving it. Begging for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Then he’s breaching me, he’s rough, he’s pushing himself deep inside of me. I cry out. His hand is in my hair, pulling, making me arch my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">He rams himself in to me. It hurts, but it’s also bliss. Perfection. It’s punishment, and redemption. Like he’s tearing me open from the inside. Making me come apart around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">My cock is hard and dripping, aching to be touched, but he won’t be the one to touch it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">So I’m fisting it myself, crying out, as he thrusts hard into me, and out, and in again.  </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">He comes inside of me with a grunt, before I can come. And with his semen still dripping out of my arse, that’s it—he leaves. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
That was … rough and quick. Harry was confused, and really fucking hard, but … was that really the way people saw him? A selfish lover, a rough lover, someone who wouldn’t even kiss? He loved kissing. It made no sense to him.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> No, it wouldn’t happen that way </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Hey, it’s <span class="u">my</span> fantasy. You wanted to hear it! </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Besides, it wouldn’t happen at all. For a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being: Harry Potter is fucking straight. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Like hell he was ...<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> But you would kiss, it would be more… </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Romantic … sensual … <i>lubricated</i> …<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Okay, as a Gryffindor, you probably think you know him better than me </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">And maybe you do </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">But the way I told you, that’s the only way I can imagine it. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Well, let me tell you how I think it would go instead…  </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">I’ll be Harry in this scenario. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ugh… Fine. If you must. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I see you in the club, looking fit and a little rumpled. Dancing all sexy to the music. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Merlin help me. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> So I push through the crowd. I say hi. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">You say hi. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I’m rolling my eyes. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Hush! </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">“Dance with me?” I ask. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">You nod. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> This is too slow. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> I said hush! </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">So we dance, I hang my arms off your shoulders, you wrap your arms around my waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I touch my forehead to yours, we’re breathing heavily, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I tilt my head, and kiss the edge of your mouth. It’s a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">You answer, with a quick press of your lips to mine.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">So I hold your head in my hands properly, kiss you, properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Prove to you, exactly how you make me feel. Prove to you how much I want this, have wanted this for a long time, how I want <span class="u">you</span>, with tugs on your lip, sucking your tongue, kissing you as deep as I can manage. I could kiss you for hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">You slide your hands into my back pockets, squeezing my arse, bringing us flush up against each other. We can feel our muscles shifting together, our bodies aligned. The growing arousal we can feel on each other has us gasping. I’m trying to get more friction, to rut against you, right there in the middle of the dancefloor. It’s hard to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">You whisper, “Back to mine?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I reply, “Fuck yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">We’re at your flat. I suggest a shower, we’ve been dancing, we’re sticky with sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">You lead me to your shower, backwards, kissing me. I can’t stop kissing you. We’re clumsy, bumping into walls, furniture. But it doesn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">We’re trying to strip each other on the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Breathless, you turn on the shower. Then we’re kissing again. We’re naked now, I’m holding us flush against each other. So much skin, I can feel you from top to bottom. I’m so hard, and so are you. Our cocks are together, pressed between our stomachs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I suck on your pulse point, right below your ear. I squeeze your arse. I lick and nip at your nipples. I trail my mouth down to your navel, to the hair that travels from your navel downwards. I can taste the salt from your skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">“The shower!” you remind me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">We step in together. I like you wet; your hair plastered to your skin, the beads of water running over your body. We kiss, we touch, exploring each other. We have all the time in the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I drop to my knees; I look up at you. The water rains down on us. You grab a handful of my hair and tug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I give a quick lick to your cock, and look back up at you. Your grip on my hair tightens.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I suck the head inside my mouth. I moan in pleasure.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I suck you in slowly. Too slowly for you. You whine, bucking your hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">“Harry,” you say. Pleading with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I suck you down, deep into my throat, your cock hits the back. I hum around it. The water is beating down on us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I fondle your bollocks, tug them a little. And then I let a wet finger travel past, to your arsehole. Circling the rim. Teasing it. Your arsehole is twitching, aching for my finger. I press it in, just a little. It makes you moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Then I’m breaching you with my finger, just as I’m sucking your cock in and out of my mouth, swirling my tongue around your head. Savouring you. I can’t get enough of you. I press my finger in deeper. Your hips buck. I press that spot inside you … your prostate. You’re moaning so loud, you’re yanking my hair. Your other hand is clinging to the shower walls, you’re trying to keep yourself standing up. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">My mouth and my finger are in a rhythm. Your bollocks are tightening. You’re going to come. I move faster, taking you in. You’re thrusting into my mouth, and fucking yourself on my finger. And then, you’re coming right in my mouth. Our eyes are locked. We can’t look away from each other. I’m swallowing your come down, lapping it all off. Licking it off your softening cock in my mouth. Kissing your hip as I gently remove my finger. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Fuck. I came. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yeah? I was thinking about having a whole bedroom scene next. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> That was… that was quite good. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> My writing seriously made you come? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Huh. I’ve never made a man come before. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Well… congratulations? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Ha ha, thank you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> How are you doing, over there? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> You mean, did I come? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yeah </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry looked down at his achingly hard cock. He’d sort of been ignoring it, focusing on writing as fast as the thoughts came.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> No, not yet. Was too busy writing. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Anything I can do to help? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Was there? With all the snogging that had gone on in Hufflepuff, snogging was very much on his mind.  </p><p>And he wanted someone to want to kiss him. </p><p>If his journal-mate described it, maybe he could imagine it were about him.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Sure, tell me how you’d kiss your Ravenclaw. </span></p><p><span class="font-brickred">Write it as if he were me. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry shimmied out of his pyjama bottoms, then ran his fingers down his stomach, over his bollocks, and took his cock in hand, finally. He felt a burst of pleasure, flowing hotly through him. His toes curled. Images swam around in his mind. Malfoy with Terry. Dean’s tongue. The fantasy shower. The cock in his mouth. Pansy Parkinson on the desk. The way Terry Boot had <i>moaned</i>.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Ugh, <strike>he’s not</strike> </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Okay. Fine. Because you helped me get off, though why you’d choose <span class="u">that</span> of all things ... </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">I would …<br/>
I would first tell you </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">That I’m sorry<br/>
For everything.<br/>
Everything done, and everything not done. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry wasn’t really paying attention to the words appearing on the journal beside him. He was imagining that shower fantasy.  </p><p>Terry Boot in that shower. Ugh, no.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> <strike>I’d tell him</strike> </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">You deserve a wonderful life, </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">and wonderful things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">And I’d … </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Fuck, this isn’t sexy at all. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Pansy Parkinson in that shower. Water running down her breasts, one leg propped up on the edge of the bathtub while he ate her out. Better.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Sod it. You hold me around my waist, bring me in close. I could live in that circle of your arms … </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">My palms are on your chest. I can feel your heart beating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">And I lean in, I brush my lips against yours. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Like you said: it’s a question. I liked that. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Dean in that shower. No. Just friends.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> And you answer. You kiss me back. Slowly. And I move one of my hands across to the back of your neck, to feel your hair. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Fuck I want to know what his hair feels like… </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">What his lips feel like, for that matter… </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">I’m sorry, I’m not doing a good job of this. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Draco Malfoy in that shower. Silver eyes and pale expanses of skin. Harry’s finger up Malfoy’s arse. </p><p>Or reversed: Malfoy on his knees in front of Harry, Harry’s hand tugging on those loose white-blond strands. Malfoy’s finger in his arse. Malfoy’s foul, mean mouth around Harry’s cock. </p><p>Harry slid his feet in towards himself, so that his knees were up and he could lift up his arse a bit. He trailed the hand that wasn’t pumping his cock between his thighs to his arse cheeks below. His middle finger teased his hole, he imagined it was Malfoy’s finger instead of his. He pressed the finger in past that ring of nerves, his other hand fisted his cock faster. <i>Malfoy</i>.  </p><p>Oh, fuck.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I came. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Really? With all my rambling? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Well I thought of other things too. Like that shower fantasy. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Oh, well good. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Oh God. Was Harry really, honestly, in some way, <i>attracted</i> to Draco bloody Malfoy?  </p><p>To distract himself from thinking about that disturbing thought any longer, he read what his journal-mate had wrote. But his mind was a half-drunk confused cloud of post-ejaculation haze; it was hard to concentrate on anything.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> You’ve really got it bad, huh? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ugh. I’m too tired to get into it.<br/>
Should we sleep? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry still had the butterfly sticker on the back of his hand. He didn’t want to look at it. </p><p>He peeled it off. He should just ball it up and toss it.  </p><p>He stuck it to the inside cover of the journal instead.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Probably, yeah. It’s pretty late. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Good night, then. And thanks. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Goodnight. Thank you also, that was </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry fell asleep before he could think of the right word.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for still reading ❤️</p><p>So—about that tag about making myself cry writing this ... it was during the spin-the-bottle rejection scene<br/>And it still <i>hurts</i><br/>(What does that say about me—that I'm far too invested in those two?)</p><p>Anyway! Feel free to yell at me about how I lured you in with the "party games" and "spin the bottle" tags, only to spectacularly let you down lol<br/><br/><br/><br/>ETA: tiptipthebipbip made two beautiful digital artworks of the Draco sticker scene <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828871">here</a> ❤️❤️❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry slept through breakfast. He woke up, groggy and thirsty, close to eleven. Maybe a bit hungover. He cast an <i>Aguamenti</i> directly into his own mouth, and then went and took a long, hot shower. </p><p>Down in the common room, Dean called out flirtatiously, ‘Morning Harry.’ And then, he winked. </p><p>‘Oi!’ said Seamus beside him, slapping Dean’s arm. </p><p>Harry smiled, but he was distracted. He walked on past them all, out the portrait, and made his way to the library. He may as well start on that Potions essay due Monday, since there was still a little time before lunch.  </p><p>Hermione and Ron were already in the library, sat at a table with a pile of books in front of them. Hermione had her head ducked low, busy scribbling notes, while Ron sat beside her, staring off in the distance, twirling a quill. Harry came up behind them and threw his arms around their shoulders, into a hug. </p><p>‘Harry!’ Hermione said, a little startled. </p><p>‘Hey mate,’ Ron said. ‘All right?’ </p><p>‘All right,’ Harry answered. He let go of them and circled around to the other side of the table, setting his bag down and sitting with a heavy sigh.  </p><p>Hermione watched him carefully. ‘What’s going on?’ </p><p>‘Hmm? Nothing.’ Harry answered, unzipping his bad and taking out a parchment and quill. </p><p>Hermione and Ron exchanged one of those annoying couple looks. </p><p>‘Did you have a good time last night?’ asked Hermione. </p><p>Harry shrugged, flattening out his roll of parchment on the table. ‘Was fine.’ </p><p>‘You left early—' </p><p>‘I was tired.’ </p><p>‘Ah, okay,’ Hermione conceded, perhaps reluctantly. </p><p>‘You missed a few things,’ Ron said. </p><p>‘Yeah? Like what?’ Harry asked, without looking up, flipping his textbook open to the chapter on Amortentia.</p><p>Ron laughed. ‘Well, Pansy and that Seventh Year Hufflepuff made out. What was her name … Becky?’ </p><p>‘Becca,’ Hermione corrected. </p><p>‘Right, Becca. Yeah, and they just wouldn’t stop after the ten seconds. So yeah, I guess they’re girlfriends now.’ </p><p>‘That’s nice,’ Harry said as his eyes scanned the paragraph on proper use of peppermint flower heads.   </p><p>‘And then Hermione had to kiss <i>Malfoy</i>—’ </p><p>Harry dropped his quill.  </p><p>He raised his eyes off the page to find Hermione blushing, pinching her mouth closed tight. </p><p>‘It was <i>awful</i>. Disgusting. You should’ve taken the bubble-gum shot, Hermione.’ Ron shook his head in dismay. Then he rounded on him, ‘You dodged a bullet there, Harry.’ </p><p>‘Honestly, Ron. It wasn’t that bad.' Hermione rolled her eyes, but the blush was still there. 'It was close-mouthed the whole time. <i>And</i> he’s not that bad these days either.’ </p><p>Harry’s jaw muscle twitched.  </p><p>‘What, ever since he <i>apologised</i> to you?’ Ron asked. </p><p>‘Well, as a matter of fact, yes! He was very sincere. I was quite touched by it.’ </p><p>‘So, what, do I need to worry about him now?’ </p><p>Hermione glared at Ron. ‘Oh shut it. You know you’re the only one for me.’ </p><p>Ron’s expression softened. ‘Babe—’ </p><p>Harry pushed his chair back. ‘I’m going to lunch.’</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div>Harry didn’t have much of an appetite.<p>He drank a lot of pumpkin juice. Took bites out of a sandwich. </p><p>He wasn’t going to look. He refused to look. </p><p>He looked. </p><p>Draco Malfoy was sat with the First Year Hufflepuff again. The sticker girl. He had his hands in her hair, folding those thick black strands into a French braid. </p><p>Bobby pins stuck out in all directions between Malfoy's lips, and Harry spotted a black hair elastic around his wrist. Malfoy's brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers worked, carefully parting pieces of her hair and folding them over one another. </p><p>And the girl—she had her eyes shut tight, and was positively beaming.  </p><p>On the other side of Malfoy sat Terry fucking Boot, prattling on to him about something. Waving a hand around and staring at Malfoy’s face like <i>he</i> was lunch.  </p><p>Harry grabbed his bag, the other half of his sandwich, and took them outside. </p><p>He inhaled a deep breath of fresh air.</p><p>It wasn’t bad out for autumn. There wasn’t any wind, just a refreshing chill in the air. The leaves hadn’t all changed yet, some green still remained. It wouldn’t be long, though, they’d all turn soon.  </p><p>Harry found a quiet spot, hidden from castle view by a massive tree, overlooking the lake. He cast a warming charm. He wasn’t exactly cold, but he was going to need it soon anyways if he stayed sitting for a while. </p><p>The gentle lapping of the lake soothed him. The Giant Squid was likely stirring it up, causing all the little waves. Harry ate the sandwich as he stared out at the rippling blue-green water. It was so <i>still</i> out there, quiet. Peaceful. </p><p>Then Harry forced himself to focus on that Potions essay, and nothing else. He was not thinking about Malfoy kissing Hermione rather than him, nor Malfoy bloody plaiting a Hufflepuff’s <i>hair</i>. Nor Terry Boot’s annoying flirting. And definitely not about how Harry might have a physical attraction to Draco-ferretface-Malfoy. Nothing. None of that. Just Potions.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>He finished writing it. That was a first, he usually didn’t finish things so early.<p>Left with nothing more to do, it was time he went in. </p><p>It was another half hour or so until dinner, so Harry headed for Gryffindor Tower in order to drop off his stuff. </p><p>He rounded a corner in the hall, and witnessed the bane of his existence, Draco Malfoy, shoving a kid against the wall. Hissing in his face. The kid looked no older than twelve. </p><p>Why did it always have to be Draco Malfoy? And why did it always have to be Harry? </p><p>Couldn’t it be Goyle for a change? Or Neville intervening for a change? </p><p>Harry was just so bloody sick of Malfoy. </p><p>Harry strode over silently, and pulled him off the kid, flipping Malfoy unceremoniously over so his back was against the wall. ‘What the hell, Malfoy?’ Harry meant it, meant for a real answer. </p><p>Malfoy’s eyes dilated; he licked his lips. ‘I—’  </p><p>Malfoy’s gaze shifted to the side, to watch the retreating back of that kid running off. His expression settled into a mask of stubbornness, his mouth a firm line.  </p><p>‘What was he, <i>twelve</i>? What business do you have, shoving him like that?’ Harry demanded, searching Malfoy’s face for something. Some reaction, some explanation. </p><p>Malfoy just slowly brought his gaze back to Harry. And it unnerved him. </p><p>‘You haven’t changed at all, then! Is that it?’ Harry continued. ‘Despite everything? Despite the war—despite what it did to your family? Despite everyone else making an effort to be decent to each other? No … you’re still the same bully you always were.’ He searched those cold grey eyes, and found nothing. No remorse. No reaction. They just stared back at him. </p><p>Malfoy exhaled, he opened his mouth, to say something.  </p><p>Harry had <i>had</i> it with him. Had it. He didn’t want to look at that sodding face any more. Harry shoved him back against the wall and spun to storm off, but his foot caught on something, kicking it. </p><p>Malfoy must have dropped his bag; it and its contents were splayed out on the ground. Maybe Harry had been the one to knock it off his shoulder. </p><p>Harry looked down.  </p><p>It was Harry’s journal. How did it …  </p><p>Harry bent to pick it up. </p><p>‘No! Don’t—’ Malfoy called out, coming in fast to grab it from him. </p><p>Harry’s reflexes were faster, and he moved it out of Malfoy’s reach.  </p><p>‘This is—’ Harry cut himself off. <i>His journal</i>. He opened it, to the first page.  </p><p>The familiar writing was all there.  </p><p>But it didn’t have Harry’s sparkly pink butterfly sticker on the inside cover.  </p><p>Instead, it had all the others. All the other stickers that were on Malfoy’s arm a day ago. </p><p>‘Give that back,’ Malfoy hissed, trying to grab it again. </p><p>Harry moved it out of reach again. He was dazed. None of this made any sense at all. He turned to Malfoy, wide-eyed. Malfoy froze at seeing Harry’s face. Understanding was beginning to dawn on the both of them.  </p><p>‘No,’ Malfoy was saying, shaking his head, backing up against the wall. ‘No.’ </p><p>‘It was you,’ Harry said dazedly. ‘How could it be you?’ </p><p>‘No,’ Malfoy was still saying that word. </p><p>Harry blinked, his eyes coming in to focus on the journal in his hand. He looked from the journal to Malfoy, and back again. </p><p>Everything he’d been trying to repress, to quash down, was flooding up to the surface. Ready to boil over. </p><p>‘It doesn’t make any sense. This person,’ he said, lifting the journal, ‘wouldn’t fight twelve-year-olds.’ </p><p>Malfoy looked like a deer caught in the headlights. </p><p>Harry kept going, starring at the journal now, furrowing his brow, speaking wildly, ‘You kissed Terry Boot, you kissed Hermione. You wouldn’t kiss me.’  </p><p>‘<i>What</i>—’ </p><p>‘But this person,’ he raised the journal again, his voice cracking, ‘had a fantasy. About me. It doesn’t make any sense, how could it be you?’ </p><p>He looked back over at Malfoy. Malfoy was furiously red-faced now. ‘Don’t you dare—’ he started. He didn’t seem to be capable of full sentences. </p><p>‘Then there’s you and that First Year Hufflepuff. And you <i>apologised</i> to Hermione? But just a few weeks ago, you were hexing me, telling me to fuck off, telling me I have a Hero Complex, telling me no one needs me to save them.’ </p><p>Malfoy let out a shaky breath, his eyes were so wide. Deer in headlights.  </p><p>‘I can’t piece it all together,’ Harry continued. ‘I can’t. It’s too much for me. Fuck, it’s too much for me …’ </p><p>Malfoy looked helpless. Frozen. </p><p>‘It can’t have been real, then. This has all been … made up. Some kind of … prank on me ...' Harry shoved the journal in Malfoy’s arms. ‘Stay away from me. Please.’ And he left.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry needed something, anything, to distract him. He tried to join in a conversation with Dean, Seamus and Neville.<p>He tried to read a book. </p><p>He tried Exploding Snap with Ginny in the corner of the common room. </p><p>‘Harry, what’s going on?’ she finally demanded, after the third time she beat him easily. </p><p>‘Hmm?’ Harry asked, staring at the cards in his hands. </p><p>‘Harry, look at me!’ </p><p>He did.  </p><p>Ginny looked sympathetic, leaning forward, smiling softly at him. ‘You can tell me, whatever it is.’ </p><p>How could he possibly put any of that into words? </p><p>He shook his head, looking off to the side, silently asking the blank wall beside them for answers. He shrugged. </p><p>‘Harry, <i>try</i>.’ </p><p>‘Everything’s fine,’ he managed to say, breathily. </p><p>‘Except?’  </p><p>Harry’s jaw muscles clenched. ‘Except,’ he echoed, ‘for Draco Malfoy.’ </p><p>‘Oh, Harry,’ she exhaled, leaning back in her chair. ‘You’ve always been … well, a bit weird about him. So. What’s happened, then?’ </p><p>Harry shrugged.  </p><p>She sighed. ‘Just start at the beginning. Of this school year,’ she rushed to add, rolling her eyes. </p><p>He smiled a bit, despite himself. How much of the last 7 years had involved Malfoy, after all? He’d been the first Hogwarts student he’d met. Every adventure, every hardship, Malfoy had been right there. Usually making things harder, making things worse.  </p><p>But, this year, focusing on this year. Harry sighed, and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. He didn’t quite believe it yet himself, but he told her, ‘We’ve been chatting, anonymously, in a magically-linked journal all this year so far. I found out this afternoon it’d been him on the other end, when I saw him with the other journal.’ </p><p>Ginny let out a burst of laughter, then covered her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That’s just bizarre. So bizarre. And yet, <i>so</i> like something you’d get yourself into.’ </p><p>Harry sighed. ‘I suppose …' </p><p>‘So, what? Did you fall in love or something?’ </p><p>A choking noise burst out of him. ‘Excuse me?’ </p><p>Ginny laughed. Well ... it was good someone could find this amusing. ‘Sorry. It just seems like something you two would do.’ </p><p>‘It … <i>does</i>?’ Fucking hell. Maybe Ginny hadn’t been the best person to bring this up with. <i>Anyone else</i> would be better. McGonagall. McGonagall would never say something so ridiculous. She was reasonable. </p><p>Ginny laughed again, good-naturedly. ‘Oh Harry. What a mess. So, what actually happened?’ </p><p>‘We bonded, I suppose,’ he answered, reluctantly. ‘Or I thought we had.’ </p><p>‘Nice.’ </p><p>‘How can you talk like this? You and I …' </p><p>‘Oh, I’ve known we were over. It took a little while for it to sink in, but it did. Sink in.’ She smiled at him warmly, crinkling her eyes small. ‘I just want you to be happy.’ </p><p>‘I want you to be happy too,’ he echoed, like he was speaking someplace far away. </p><p>‘Do you like him then? Romantically?’ </p><p>‘He’s an arsehole.’ </p><p>Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Okay. I guess so. I hear he’s marginally better this year.’ </p><p>‘Marginally,’ Harry agreed wryly. ‘Him and that Hufflepuff girl ...’ </p><p>Ginny laughed. ‘I noticed that too. Charlotte is her name. It’s actually pretty cute, the two of them.’ </p><p>Harry nodded. It <i>was</i> fucking cute, he thought bitterly. </p><p>‘Blaise says they joke that Charlotte looks like yours and Malfoy’s kid. You know, since she's kind of pointy but has lips shaped kind of like yours. Malfoy hates it.’ </p><p>‘Um, <i>what</i>?’ </p><p>Ginny laughed. ‘Didn’t I tell you Blaise and I are dating? It’s new, but, it’s been fun. I get all the juicy Slytherin/Hufflepuff gossip too.’ </p><p>That was yet another strange thing for Harry to try to wrap his head around. ‘Well, congratulations,’ Harry said, blinking dumbly at her. </p><p>‘Thanks,’ she answered, poking her tongue out at him. ‘So what are you going to do, then?’ </p><p>‘Nothing. Graduate. Leave this whole catastrophe behind.’ </p><p>‘That’s no fun.’ </p><p>‘You don’t get it. Malfoy really is an arsehole.’ </p><p>Ginny shrugged. Then she brightened and sat up straighter, as if she’d just gotten a genius idea. ‘You know what you have to do? Re-read that journal. Now that you <i>know</i>.’ </p><p>‘Ugh. It was all just a big joke, I’m sure. He was probably only having me on.’ </p><p>‘Harry,’ she said sternly, ‘did Malfoy look like he’d been having you on when you figured out the truth? Did he laugh and say, “Gotcha”?’ </p><p>‘Well … no …' He’d looked rather flabbergasted, Harry supposed. Upset, even. Harry frowned at the thought.</p><p>‘It was real. Read the damn thing. Can I read it too?’ </p><p>‘No!’ </p><p>She grinned at him. ‘Ah well, worth a shot.’</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry glared at the journal. Glared at it. Then smacked it open to the first page. He sighed, then he turned the page. Then the next. It really was so different now, knowing it was Malfoy.<p>Old messages stood out, now, differently:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Well, some things just can't be fixed.<br/>
I'm reminded every day of the bloody war, reminded of bloody <span class="u">everything</span>.<br/>
I know, poor me. Ha ha.<br/>
That is<br/>
kind of you.<br/>
But, no thank you.<br/>
Perhaps I deserve it?<br/>
That first entry of yours was difficult to read.<br/>
Because it reminds me of me.<br/>
So. We are a miserable pair, aren’t we?<br/>
You don’t have to have anything figured out right now. Not a single thing.<br/>
What, go after who I want?<br/>
Merlin, no.<br/>
It’s… like wanting the best for someone, needing them to be happy and safe.<br/>
Even if that comes at great personal cost to yourself.<br/>
It’s wanting to know and be known.<br/>
Sometimes you never really see it coming.<br/>
It just hits you one day like a Bludger.<br/>
Other times, it’s slow, like you didn’t even notice it there, growing, until you wake up and realise it’s there.<br/>
Maybe it’s been there for years.<br/>
I’m an idiot.<br/>
I lost my temper.<br/>
I am so stupid.<br/>
And I’m so tired of being powerless.<br/>
I keep falling into old patterns of behaviour.<br/>
I want to be better. I should be better.<br/>
Such a shame, I was starting to like you.<br/>
And I’m trying to let go. To let go of the person I thought I wanted to be before the war happened, to let go of the image of who my parents want me to be now.<br/>
I’m going to try to be genuine, to show my genuine self, for the first time.<br/>
Fine. It’s Harry Potter. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
And he had made Draco Malfoy come, if Harry was to believe what was written. What a concept … </p><p>Harry rubbed at his eyes.  </p><p>He still wasn’t quite sure. Of anything. But Ginny had helped. And reading had helped. </p><p>He felt he could sleep now. </p><p>So, he did.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Charlotte found him in the library. He was getting a head start on his Charms assignment. A head start. What had he become?<p>‘Um, excuse me,’ she said, standing right beside his chair. ‘Harry Potter.’ </p><p>Harry set his quill down, and turned to her. She was so small; they were pretty much eye-to-eye with him sitting, her standing. ‘Hi Charlotte.’ </p><p>She smiled. ‘You know who I am?’ </p><p>‘I … do. What brings you …' he trailed off, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone had come in with her—but the entranceway was empty.  </p><p>‘I know about your fight with Draco.’ </p><p>‘Oh … um, okay.’ </p><p>‘It was about <i>me</i>, yesterday. That boy, the Second Year.’ </p><p>‘Oh.’ Harry studied Charlotte's face, but she was still smiling just the same. </p><p>‘He pulled my hair. He said mean things about my parents.’ </p><p>Harry gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes. </p><p>‘Draco was just teaching him a lesson. He didn’t hurt him though! Draco just wanted to stick up for me, you know?’ </p><p>‘I ... I see …' He clenched and unclenched his fists. 'Charlotte I'm really sorry that happened to you. It shouldn't have.'</p><p>She smiled. 'Draco helped me.'</p><p>Harry could only nod.</p><p>‘So I wanted to tell you that. Okay?’ </p><p>“Yeah,’ Harry said, exhaling. ‘Did he … ask you, to tell me this?’ </p><p>‘Oh, no. He’s quite determined to forget you exist.’ She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, ‘He’s hiding in bed under a pile of blankets.’ </p><p>‘Right …' Harry blinked rapidly, unable to keep himself from imagining that. </p><p>‘I just thought you should hear the whole story.’ She grinned at him. </p><p>‘Okay. Thank you.’ </p><p>‘Can we hug?’ </p><p>Harry huffed a laugh. Hufflepuffs. ‘Sure.’ </p><p>She leapt into him, her arms around his neck. Harry patted her back awkwardly. </p><p>‘Okay, bye Harry!’ She said, releasing him and spinning around to run off with her braid flapping behind herself.  </p><p>‘Goodbye,’ Harry replied, a little baffled.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Luna found him in the library next. She sat across from him with a knowing smile and slid an unlabelled gold tin towards him.<p>‘What’s this?’ Harry asked, taking it into his hand to get a look at it. </p><p>‘Draco’s tea!’ she beamed. </p><p>He set it down. ‘I see.’ </p><p>Reaching over to touch his hand, Luna said, ‘I’m sure there’s a reason for why he didn’t kiss you.’ </p><p>‘Luna!’ Harry admonished, looking around to see if anyone overheard. His face felt hot. ‘I wasn’t … That doesn’t matter …' </p><p>‘I saw your face, Harry,’ she said, as if that was all the explanation she needed.  </p><p>He pulled his hand from under hers and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. ‘He just didn’t want to. It’s not a big deal.’ </p><p>‘Maybe there’s another reason,’ she said brightly.  </p><p>‘I doubt that …' He seriously, seriously did. </p><p>She smiled again, in that knowing way. ‘See you later, Harry.’  </p><p>This was all too much.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>He took the tin to the kitchens, and asked a house elf to put the kettle on for him.<p>Harry sat at the old wood table there, with his head down on his folded arms, staring at the steaming mug. </p><p>It smelled lovely. Earthy, fresh, a hint of almond. It smelled like home. Which, in itself, had always been a spotty concept for Harry at best. But he’d had glimpses of it, of “home”. Sitting at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, or in front of the fireplace at the Burrow. Or sat in his favourite stuffed chair in the Gryffindor common room. Yes, the tea was a bit like those things. </p><p>So, he straightened up and tried a sip, and it tasted like it smelled. It warmed his hands while cradling it, just as it warmed him from the inside. </p><p>He exhaled slowly, blowing wisps of tea steam away from his face. Harry was going to have to talk to Malfoy. He needed them to acknowledge this … this situation. He needed it to be stated out loud, that it’d happened, that it’d been real. Because if they didn’t … Harry felt like it would all evaporate like the steam coming from his mug. And in ten years he might look back and wonder … wonder if he should’ve made more of an effort. </p><p>Well, no time like the present. The more they put it off, the harder it would get. </p><p>Harry summoned his Patronus, and sent it off with an invitation to join him. </p><p>He Accio’d another mug. And waited. Sipped the tea. Tried to keep any unwanted feelings from creeping up. He was <i>not</i> nervous. It was just Malfoy. Same sodding git he’d known for years. He probably wouldn’t even show up. </p><p>The door opened a crack. A head peered in. </p><p>Harry put the mug down, and started to rise to his feet, before he thought better of it and promptly sat right back down.  </p><p>‘C’mere. Sit,’ he said, before furrowing his brow. </p><p>What was he doing? Maybe he should’ve waited until he prepared what to say, because … because he had no idea of what he wanted to say. This was so like him, rushing into things he wasn’t ready for, he thought, attempting to scold himself. </p><p>Malfoy’s hair was wet. He had wet patches on the shoulders of his untucked dress-shirt from the drips. His grey trousers weren’t very long, and his ankles were bare and quite visible above his loafers as Malfoy moved in silently, eyeing Harry with obvious trepidation. Harry could smell him, smell the soap and the shampoo off of him. It was something fresh and citrusy. </p><p>‘Tea?’ Harry asked. Always a good place to start. </p><p>‘Sure.’ The word sounded hard, like a wall. </p><p>Malfoy slipped into the bench across from him, avoiding Harry’s eyes. </p><p>Harry poured a cup from the tea pot, and slid it over. </p><p>‘You take it black?’ Malfoy asked, with a raised eyebrow, staring at Harry’s own mug. </p><p>‘Well, yeah,’ answered Harry. ‘Do you want … milk?’ </p><p>Malfoy nodded, looking around. His fingers curled on the table in front of him, pale and slender. And Harry couldn't help staring at them. </p><p>A house elf—who’d evidently been listening in—brought over a little ceramic cup of milk, and one of sugar. </p><p>‘Thank you,’ Malfoy said softly to them, moving to fix up his tea how he liked it. </p><p>The house elf bowed, beaming, while squeaking, ‘You’re most welcome,’ before disappearing back into a kitchen nook or cranny someplace.  </p><p>So, there they were. Sitting in silence with their teas. </p><p>‘Thank you for the tin,’ Harry said, as someplace to start. </p><p>Malfoy nodded at the table itself; his long fingers wrapped around his mug. ‘Luna …' </p><p>‘Yeah.’ </p><p>Harry looked around at all the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. Looked at the stacks of plates. The sink, the ovens. Then at last, he looked at Malfoy across from him, rather damp and hunched over. Time to settle things, then. </p><p>He took a sip of tea first, and then a breath. </p><p>‘So, we’ve been writing to each other all this year, then.’ Might as well start with the obvious. Recapping made sense, and was easy. </p><p>‘Mmhmm,’ Malfoy agreed. </p><p>Oh Merlin, Harry was going to say it. He stared down at the dark liquid in his mug, as he admitted, ‘I’ve liked it.’ </p><p>He looked to Malfoy, to see how he’d react. Malfoy raised his eyes then, finally, to look at Harry with a maddeningly unreadable expression. </p><p>Malfoy lifted his mug to his lips slowly, and took a sip of tea. </p><p>So this was gonna have to be all Harry, then. </p><p>‘We could … keep writing. If you want,’ Harry said. </p><p>‘It wouldn’t be the same,’ Malfoy said. A whole sentence. </p><p>‘I … guess that’s true. But we could try anyway. We could try … to be friends.’ He winced. What was he doing—did he really think it possible? After years of animosity? </p><p>‘Friends,’ Malfoy echoed, like he was trying out how the word sounded in his mouth. It sounded sharp, and strange, coming from him. ‘You told me to stay away from you.’ </p><p>The unasked question was: what’s changed? </p><p>Harry bit his lip, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned back. Well, he wasn’t about to answer unasked questions. It was either be direct, or get nothing. ‘Do you want to, or not?’ </p><p>Malfoy narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s in it for you?’ </p><p>‘What’s in it for <i>me</i>?’ Harry repeated, incredulously. ‘Are you seriously asking me what the benefits of friendship are?’ </p><p>Malfoy’s jaw twitched; his expression darkened. ‘No, I’m asking why you’d want to try that … with <i>me</i>. Specifically.’ </p><p>He sighed. ‘Lord knows.’ </p><p>Wrong answer …  </p><p>‘Then don’t,’ said Malfoy, as he stood up to go. </p><p>Harry winced. ‘Wait.’  </p><p>Malfoy paused; his fingertips touched the table top, waiting. He was obviously ready to flee, and Harry could so easily let him. </p><p>Being awful to each other was easy. It was almost automatic. But that wasn’t why Harry had asked Malfoy there …  </p><p>‘I do want to, though, okay?’ Harry raked his fingers through his hair again, tugging. ‘I liked writing to you before. I think we could have a go at continuing it.’ </p><p>‘You hate me,’ Malfoy said, matter-of-factly, staring into Harry’s eyes. </p><p>Harry forced himself to maintain eye contact, despite how uncomfortable Malfoy’s intense gaze felt. ‘I don’t hate you.’ Surprisingly, it felt like the truth. ‘Do you?’ </p><p>Malfoy’s jaw twitched again. He broke the eye contact to look down at his hands.  </p><p>‘I don’t hate you,’ he answered. </p><p>Harry leaned forward, rubbed the handle of his mug with a thumb. ‘So … we’ll try, then.’ </p><p>‘Okay. Fine. Can I go now?’ </p><p>Harry sighed. This man was impossible. He waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. ‘Yeah, whatever.’ </p><p>Malfoy stalked off, tea mug in hand, shutting the door hard after himself. </p><p>Harry rubbed his face with his hands.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>That night Harry stared at the journal, at the blank space that was ready for either of them to fill.<p>He wondered if Malfoy was looking at it too. Maybe wondering what to write, or waiting for Harry to write. </p><p>Or, and maybe this was more likely, Malfoy didn’t care about it at all. </p><p>Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t open the journal again, maybe he’d just been playing along to get Harry to shut up about it. </p><p>Harry sighed. He flipped through the pages again, absentmindedly. Glossed over things again. Reminded himself what they talked about. Reminded himself what Malfoy was allegedly like.  </p><p>Malfoy had been right; it wasn’t going to be the same. They couldn’t talk as freely as they had.  </p><p>He could try though … if he really dared to.  </p><p>He took out a quill.  </p><p>‘Here goes,’ he whispered aloud.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> You really helped me, you know? That stuff about taking it one day at a time, one hour at a time. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I think about it still. I remind myself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">And it makes me feel better. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">You’d probably roll your eyes, like, “What does Harry Potter have to worry about?” or something </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> No. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry sucked in a breath. He hadn’t expected …<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Oh. Okay. </span></p><p><span class="font-brickred">Well, what I was getting at, eventually, was thank you. For that. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry stared at the page; he hadn’t been terribly eloquent. As per usual. Was that all he had to say? Was that all Malfoy had to say? Had that been enough?  </p><p>Minutes passed, and Harry was just about to close the journal in defeat.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> You helped me too. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry’s heart … he didn’t know why …<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> The Mind Healer, the support, the self-talk. </span></p><p><span class="font-midblue">Thank you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Well, I’m glad I could help. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I hadn’t wanted you to see me that way though. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> What way? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Another long pause.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Vulnerable. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry sucked in another breath. Fuck, <i>Malfoy</i> …<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I’m </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Glad? Privileged?—to have seen that side of you? Is that how he really felt? </p><p>He crossed out the “I’m”.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I get it...<br/>
There were things I said to you, that I wouldn’t have told anyone. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">It’s because it was anonymous that it was easier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">Like, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about how it felt being back. Everyone seemed so happy, you know? And I didn’t want to burden them. But you... understood. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">And... another thing, no one knows I’m bisexual besides Ginny and the Mind Healer. And you. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
A long pause. </p><p>Merlin. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up anything to do with sexuality, because that just reminded Harry of what they talked about <i>after</i> they told each other about their orientations.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> You didn’t tell your best friends? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> No, they’re sort of, you know, in their own world right now. Getting to be proper teenagers in love for the first time or whatever. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> I see. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">Well, I won’t tell anyone. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Thank you. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry appreciated that, he really did. It wasn’t that he was opposed to being out, per se, but it was nice that Malfoy said he’d keep Harry’s secret. Harry will tell people when he's ready for everyone to know. Which … unfortunately, would probably mean front page Prophet articles and all of the Wizarding World knowing in an instant.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> About that incident with the Second Year, </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Oh, Charlotte told me. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> She did? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yeah she found me in the library, basically told me I can’t blame you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Oh. I see. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
They were really talking … And not arguing.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Yeah. Um, this was nice? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Is that a question, Potter? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> No! It was nice. I mean, if nice is the right word.<br/>
That is to say, I enjoyed it. This conversation. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Poetic as always, Potter. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry groaned. He was fucking this up.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Me too.<br/>
It was nice. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry bit his lip, and smiled.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I guess I’ll sleep now? </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Another question? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">I’m just messing with you.<br/>
Good night </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Good night </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He closed his journal and settled back into bed. He smiled up at the canopy, heart racing, feeling … confused? Fluttery?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry arrived at breakfast, thinking only of Draco Malfoy.<p>Ginny inserted herself beside him, and bumped her shoulder against his. ‘So, did you read it?’ </p><p>With head ducked low, he chewed his mouthful of scrambled eggs slowly, and peeked at Malfoy from under his eyelashes. The man was just eating like normal, sitting in between Charlotte and Pansy’s girlfriend Becca. He swallowed. ‘Yes.’ </p><p>‘And?’ </p><p>‘And, what?’ he asked, averting his eyes quickly when Malfoy glanced in his general direction. </p><p>Ginny groaned. ‘It’s so hard to get answers out of you.’ </p><p>With a laugh, Harry said, ‘It’s almost as if I don’t want to talk about it.’ </p><p>She huffed and shot him a look. ‘You are absolutely no fun.’ </p><p>That was fair, but ... ‘I’m still working it all out.’ </p><p>‘Ugh, fine.’ She stood up straighter. ‘But I’m here if you want to talk.’ </p><p>Harry laid his head down on top of hers. ‘Thank you.’ He meant it. Then, he straightened up and went back to his eggs. </p><p>Glancing at Malfoy again, he couldn’t help but marvel at his journal-mate being Draco Malfoy all along. It was … well, not what he’d have ever guessed, and it would likely take some time getting used to it. </p><p>It’d been <i>Malfoy</i> who’d had trouble readjusting to Hogwarts, and <i>Malfoy</i> who’d been hexed in the halls. Then <i>Malfoy</i> had seen Harry’s Mind Healer. And <i>Malfoy</i> had kissed Terry Boot and Hermione and who knows who else (not Harry, anyway), before he’d gone back to his dorm and chatted into the small hours with <i>him</i>—telling Harry he was gay, and had a Harry Potter fantasy that was really just rough sex. And when Harry had intervened, and told him something different—a story that was tender and truer to life—Malfoy had <i>wanked</i> to it. Wanked to Harry’s words … and orgasmed. </p><p>Harry’s face felt hot all of a sudden. </p><p>‘You’re blushing,’ Ginny helpfully informed him. </p><p>‘No, I’m not,’ he argued, ducking his head down, and shovelling more egg into his mouth. </p><p>She laughed breathily. ‘You were just thinking dirty thoughts about Malfoy,’ she said low enough to not be overheard. </p><p>He nearly spat out his eggs. It was a miracle he swallowed them without choking. ‘Ginny …’ he warned, turning to glare at her. </p><p>Ginny laughed again. ‘Yes, all right. I’ll leave you to <i>your thoughts</i>.’ </p><p>He grunted, turning back to his food, willing his blush to go away without anybody else noticing.  </p><p>He glanced up again at Malfoy there. Just sitting at the Hufflepuff table, with no idea of what Harry was thinking. </p><p>Sure, wanking didn’t necessarily mean much, Harry reasoned. It didn’t mean Malfoy fancied him or anything. They were teenagers, blokes wanked to nearly anything.  </p><p>Still … it was … it was something. </p><p>Well, if they were going to try to be friends, and if they were going to try to talk in their journals again, then Harry was going to have to focus on that, and put any thoughts on what Malfoy does with his lips (who he kisses, and doesn’t kiss) and his cock (who he wanks about, and who he doesn’t wank about) out of Harry’s mind. </p><p>After breakfast, Harry went to the library, since he had a free period and he had nothing better to do, apparently.  </p><p>Malfoy was there too, bent over a table, with nose in a book. Harry would recognise that near-white hair anywhere. It was like a beacon. </p><p>Harry felt his feet taking him closer to Malfoy, all on their own. So, without hesitation, he plopped his bag down across from where Malfoy was studying, making Malfoy jump.  </p><p>It was as good a time as any to commence friendship. </p><p>‘Hi,’ said Harry, taking a seat. </p><p>‘Hello,’ was the wary answer. </p><p>‘Shh!’ came a distant hush from Madam Pince.  </p><p>Harry rolled his eyes, and cast a Muffliato on the table. He eyed the book in front of Malfoy. ‘What are you studying?’ </p><p>Malfoy looked down at his notes, then back up at Harry. ‘Arithmancy.’ </p><p>Harry nodded. ‘I’ve got some Charms to do.’ </p><p>‘All right.’ </p><p>Harry took out his parchment, his quill, his books, glancing up at Malfoy every once and a while. Malfoy kept staring down at his page, not moving. </p><p>Harry flipped open his textbook with a sigh. He still had a week before the assignment was due, but this was the sort of person he’d evidently become. </p><p>He scribbled some notes, glanced up at Malfoy again, who was still on the same page. </p><p>‘Are you bored?’ Harry asked. </p><p>‘No. It’s actually quite interesting,’ Malfoy replied in a dull tone, not looking up. </p><p>Harry leaned over to look at the page with a frown. Didn’t look very interesting—lots of symbols and diagrams in tiny font. </p><p>‘Do you want to fly?’ he blurted out, not knowing where that thought came from. But … now that he mentioned it, it would be more fun than doing an assignment a week early. ‘We could play a Seeker’s game. When was the last time you flew?’ </p><p>Malfoy didn’t look up; he licked his index finger and flipped the page. ‘The last time I was on a broom, I was on the back of yours.’ </p><p><i>Fiendfyre.</i>  </p><p>‘Oh <i>shit</i>. <i>Sorry</i>. I should’ve …' Harry babbled, staring at Malfoy wide-eyed. How could he have been so careless? Of course that would be something difficult for Malfoy, his friend had died that day. </p><p>His friend had <i>died</i>. </p><p>Malfoy sighed. Peering up at Harry without raising his head. ‘No, you shouldn’t’ve known. It’s all right.’ </p><p>Harry slumped back in his chair.  </p><p>His mind filled itself with images of Fiendfyre, with screams in his ear, with Malfoy gripping tight to his waist, overcome with fear. He couldn’t help thinking about it, couldn’t hold back the barrage—like a dam had broken. </p><p>The deadly flames lapping at their feet. </p><p>The frightening heat of it. Too <i>hot</i>, too loud— </p><p>‘Thank you for coming back for me, then,’ Malfoy said quietly. </p><p>Oh God, and what if he hadn’t? What if he hadn’t been quick enough? What if that had been the end of Draco Malfoy like it had been the end for Vincent Crabbe? </p><p>What if Malfoy had burned to death, reaching out for him? And all Harry could do was watch—just out of reach? </p><p>It’d been too close a call. </p><p>And how many close calls had there been? </p><p>How many people could’ve been saved, if he’d only been a bit faster? A bit smarter? </p><p>Harry’s breath had rapidly picked up. The room was getting fuzzy around the edges. His ears were ringing. <i>Fuck.</i> </p><p>He didn’t save everyone. </p><p>Sirius. Hedwig. Tonks. Lupin. Fred. </p><p>Tears welled in Harry’s eyes, but he was unseeing.  </p><p>He didn’t save them. </p><p>‘Harry. Harry, look at me.’ </p><p>Harry's breaths came out in sharp gasps.</p><p>He hadn’t been enough. </p><p><i>Can’t breathe</i>. </p><p>‘Harry.’ Cold, unfamiliar hands were in Harry’s, holding them. ‘Breathe. Please.’ </p><p><i>Breathe</i>. Yeah, yes ... </p><p>One of those unfamiliar hands brought Harry’s to rest against a chest. A flat chest, covered in soft cotton fabric.  </p><p>‘Match your breaths to mine.’ </p><p>The chest moved, with a slow breath in, a slow breath out. </p><p>In.  </p><p>Out.  </p><p>In. Out. </p><p>With effort, he did what he was told, he matched his breaths.  </p><p>Harry could feel a heartbeat underneath his palm. It seemed quick. </p><p>In.  </p><p>Out.  </p><p>The ringing in his ears started to let up. The world was righting itself bit by bit. </p><p>Oh God, he’d … And right in the middle of the library …  </p><p>He opened his eyes slowly. The library was dead silent again, save a cough and the turning of a page. Malfoy came in to focus, beside him now. Hands in his hands, holding. A thumb brushed over Harry’s knuckles, reassuringly.  </p><p>Malfoy looked concerned. His light grey eyes were bright, and so open, and … very close.  </p><p>This was … different. </p><p>‘Did I ever tell you about the first time I flew?’ Malfoy asked conversationally. </p><p>Harry couldn’t find his voice. </p><p>‘Of course I didn’t. Because, you see, it’s very embarrassing.’ </p><p>Harry could only look at Malfoy’s face—watching its subtle movements, the quirk of his mouth as he spoke, the darting around of his eyes—darting from Harry’s face to around the library and back. A freckle underneath his left eye. The arching of an eyebrow. </p><p>‘When I was six, I was not allowed to fly on a broom. But, flying on a broom was just about the only thing I wanted to do.’ He laughed under his breath and averted his eyes. ‘My parents kept their brooms locked up in an old wood shed, way out on the edge of the property.’ Malfoy dipped his head down, but Harry could see a slight smile on his lips. ‘See, the shed did not have a floor; it was set on the bare earth. So, persistent to the end, I'd sneak off to dig a hole underneath it, right at the back of the shed—so that no one would ever notice. After a few weeks of doing this, clawing at the earth with a stick, finally I got a hole big enough to climb through. So I did, I crawled inside, and I snatched the shiniest broom I could find.’ Malfoy seemed wistful. ‘It was a classic Nimbus 1000. Beautiful broom.’ </p><p>Harry couldn’t stop watching Malfoy’s face. </p><p>‘Anyhow, I heaved the broom over my six-year-old shoulder and brought it up to my room to hide underneath the bed. But I couldn’t stand to wait very long to try it out. My parents held a dinner party that evening, and I was, of course, not invited. So, it was the perfect time to test it out.’ Malfoy looked into Harry’s eyes—his were bright and shining with amusement. ‘So, I pulled it out from under my bed, and hopped on. The broom went mad, like it had a mind of its own.’ Malfoy’s hand shifted in Harry’s. ‘It took me out of my bedroom, zoomed down the hall; it made loops around the foyer, and, lastly, took me into the dining room.’ He bit his lip, and offered Harry a small smile. ‘I hit the chandelier, blasting through the crystal, causing it to rain down onto all the food. Little pieces of crystal splashed the guests with their soups and wines and what-not. And the Minister for Magic was there.’ He sighed. ‘Imagine you’re having a nice dinner, and a six-year-old wearing bunny-rabbit footie pyjamas comes barrelling in on a broom, <i>indoors</i>, crashes into the chandelier, and splashes your food all over you.’ Malfoy smiled a little. </p><p>Harry felt the corners of his mouth lift … he was smiling. Smiling because of Draco Malfoy. They were smiling … at each other. Malfoy averted his eyes, looking off at the stacks. Then they darted back to Harry once more.</p><p>Silence stretched for a moment. And Harry realised he felt … better. </p><p>He licked his bottom lip. ‘Sorry.’ It came out a bit strained. </p><p>‘You spiralled a bit back there, huh?’ Malfoy said, trying to make light of it. The look in his eyes seemed … hesitant. But kind. </p><p>‘I wasn’t expecting …' he murmured, as way of explanation. </p><p>Malfoy nodded. ‘Flying is usually a safe topic. It’s not your fault.’ </p><p>Harry nodded too, searching Malfoy’s face. He couldn’t figure him out.   </p><p>‘Want to get out of here? Fresh air?’ </p><p>‘Okay.’ </p><p>Malfoy pulled him up, then dropped his hands. Harry felt their absence. He brought his own hands together, entwining his fingers, to compensate. Then they left their things on the table, and walked out of the library together. Harry’s legs were a bit noodle-y, but he managed all right without having to do something embarrassing like grab onto Malfoy’s arm. Instead, he focused on his breathing. </p><p>They walked the halls in silence. </p><p>Malfoy was helping him, Harry realised. </p><p>‘You’re being nice. To me,’ Harry muttered. It was rather baffling. </p><p>Malfoy made a soft sound of amusement. ‘I suppose this is a first, then?’ </p><p>Strange. ‘Why, though?’ </p><p>They descended some steps in silence, before Malfoy answered, ‘You said so yourself, we’re trying to be friends, aren’t we? I’d have done the same for Pansy. Have done, actually.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ Harry said softly. He didn’t know of anyone who had anxiety attacks like him. </p><p>‘The war hasn’t been easy on any of us.’ Malfoy turned his head, but not before Harry noticed him grimace. </p><p>They reached the front doors, and Malfoy pushed them open, holding the door for Harry to pass through. </p><p>The crisp air hit Harry, and it was like he’d just woken up. The world seemed brighter now. He breathed in the air, let it fill his lungs. He hadn’t realised how hot and stuffy he’d felt. </p><p>Without discussing a destination, they slowly walked the lawn, over towards the lake. The sun shone bright in the clear blue sky.</p><p>And the silence between them felt … oddly comfortable. </p><p>Malfoy walked right up to the lake’s edge, and bent to pick up some smooth, flat stones. He looked out at the water for a moment, contemplating it, turning the stones over in his palm—making little click-clack sounds with them. Harry felt a bit breathless, a few paces away, watching him. </p><p>The wind tousled Malfoy’s hair. He looked so serious. And stoic. He tossed the stones into the lake, causing plop-sounds and ripples to appear in the lake’s surface. Harry watched the ripples get wider and wider until they disappeared altogether. </p><p><i>Strange</i>, he thought again. Because it all seemed natural, when it shouldn’t. </p><p>Malfoy glanced back at him, before he resumed walking, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Harry followed suit, trailing behind. They kept walking, leisurely, around the lake.  </p><p>The wind felt nice in Harry’s hair. Refreshing. </p><p>A red squirrel scampered past them as Malfoy kicked at some pebbles. </p><p>Yes. It felt comfortable. A little cold. But Harry didn’t mind much. </p><p>‘Feeling better?’ Malfoy asked, breaking their long silence. </p><p>Malfoy had never once asked him anything like that, about his <i>feelings</i>. </p><p>‘Yes.’ Had Draco Malfoy always been like this? Deep down?  </p><p>Malfoy hummed his acknowledgement. </p><p>They walked a bit more, before Harry asked, ‘What happened after you crashed into the chandelier?’ </p><p>Malfoy tossed him a glance, and shrugged. ‘Broke my arm, wrecked the broom.’ </p><p>Harry sucked in a breath. </p><p>‘And my parents had a house-elf keep a closer eye on me, from then on.’ </p><p>It wasn’t really the light-hearted story Malfoy had made it out to be, then. He’d censored it earlier … in order to make Harry feel better. </p><p>‘So. I’ve been thinking,’ Malfoy said, changing the subject, and not looking at Harry. </p><p>‘Yeah?’ All Harry could look at was Malfoy. </p><p>‘Our Mind Healer does one Saturday morning a month. So I thought I’d take a mental health weekend, of sorts. See her, stay in my flat for the weekend, that kind of thing.’ </p><p><i>Our Mind Healer.</i> </p><p>Harry’s heartrate picked up. Not in a panicky way this time, though. </p><p>In a way, they were acknowledging that their journal conversations happened for the first time. Acknowledging the content. At least, this was the first specific in-person reference to what they’d shared. </p><p>‘Oh. That sounds … really nice.’ Did he say “nice” too often? He did, he definitely did. He needed a new word. </p><p>Malfoy stared out at the lake, looking bored—or neutral anyway. ‘If you’d like, you could join me. If you have nothing else to do, of course, no assignments. No other plans.’ </p><p>‘Wait, you really have a flat?’ It hadn’t registered … that fantasy they’d written about, <i>the flat</i>. </p><p>Malfoy eyed him sharply, his cheeks were pink, but that might just be the autumn air. ‘I do. In London.’ </p><p>‘When did you …' There was a real flat.  </p><p>‘I moved there this past summer. By myself. I’m not going back to the Manor again.’ </p><p>‘Oh.’ <i>Oh</i>. </p><p>‘Well. It’s not a big deal, if you aren’t interested,’ Malfoy said, looking off at the horizon. </p><p>Harry’s heartbeat staggered. Malfoy was inviting him … to his flat. For a weekend. The flat from the fantasy. The fantasy in which Malfoy imagined himself bent over a table. No big deal, indeed. ‘Yeah.’ </p><p>‘Yeah, what?’ Malfoy cast him a glance. </p><p>‘I’d like that. A “mental health” weekend, you said? Yeah. Let’s do that. Like a mini break.’ </p><p>Malfoy stared at him, blinking slowly. Then he turned his head abruptly. ‘Okay. I’ll figure out the details.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a Saturday morning and Harry found himself stood with a scrap of parchment in his hand inside McGonagall’s office. There was an address written on it, in Malfoy’s familiar elegant loopy handwriting.  </p><p>Malfoy had gone through McGonagall’s Floo an hour earlier. (‘I need to tidy up,’ he’d explained, and Harry had said he didn’t care if it was messy or anything. But Malfoy had glared at him and insisted—insisted Harry give him a few hours. Harry negotiated it down to one.)  </p><p>So, with a rucksack swung over a shoulder containing a change of clothes, pyjamas, and a toothbrush, Harry said the address into the Floo. </p><p>When Harry popped out of Malfoy’s fireplace, he spotted him immediately: standing in the centre of a small living room with one hand on his hip, the other on his head, as he surveyed the room around himself and its state of cleanliness.  </p><p>Harry smiled a bit, couldn’t help it. It was kind of sweet how Malfoy cared so much about the first impression his flat would make.  </p><p>Malfoy whirled around to face him, staring blankly at him for a beat. </p><p>‘Well, good enough, I suppose,’ he muttered waving his hand at his cleaning job, surveying the room again. </p><p>Harry gave it a proper look now, too—and it shocked him. <i>So</i> cluttered. So many colours. Shelves overflowed with books, loose papers, and with odds and ends like a Big Ben snow globe and a pile of scarves. He had mint green wallpaper, and an assortment of old furniture that seemed not to match—a worn purple couch, red faux-leather armchair, a gold-painted desk, a blue coffee table. </p><p>It was … not what Harry expected. ‘Oh this is <i>weird</i>,’ Harry blurted out, with great interest. </p><p>Malfoy spluttered, obviously offended. </p><p>‘I meant it as a compliment,’ Harry said, smiling at Malfoy, before looking back to inspect things. He took a few steps forward. ‘I figured you’d be more minimalist, with greys and whites, y’know, the sort of place that looks like no one actually lives there. Because you’re so posh, I suppose. And well-to-do. But this is … this is like a granny’s flat. Or a cat lady’s flat.’ </p><p>‘<i>Excuse me</i>?’ </p><p>‘It’s actually pretty brilliant, you know? Wow, why do you keep scarves <i>here</i>? Like, why with the books?’ </p><p>‘I …'  </p><p>Then Harry noticed the <i>television</i>. The DVD player. Muggle things. ‘This is amazing. Incredible, really. Who would’ve actually thought?’ He was probably talking more to himself than to Malfoy. </p><p>‘It’s … just normal stuff.’ </p><p>‘Oh <i>sure</i>, but for Draco Malfoy?’ <i>Muggle</i> things, and a complete lack of organisation. <i>The colours</i>. </p><p>Malfoy had nothing to say to that; he simply frowned at Harry. </p><p>Okay, maybe Harry was being a bit rude. He genuinely liked it, he did. It just shocked him, is all. He thought he’d had Malfoy pegged—<i>for years</i> he thought he knew who Malfoy was. But maybe he’d been completely wrong, and that was probably a good thing.  </p><p>And maybe Malfoy <i>had</i> been the sort of person to have a clean, minimalist flat before. Or at least something far more expensive-looking. Maybe he’d been pretending to be that sort of person back then, or maybe Malfoy might’ve thought he’d been that person himself. He’d always seemed to care too much about how everyone saw him, and … and probably his parents would been overbearing about the way things were “supposed” to be. </p><p>But post-war Draco Malfoy was in front of Harry now. And that Malfoy had been working through his problems, like: figuring out who he is, without his parent’s influence.  </p><p>Harry looked at Malfoy’s DVD collection. Rom-coms and <i>Kung Fu</i>. He laughed under his breath, in <i>delight</i>, as he scratched at a spot on his scalp. There was a pile of yarn beside the television. Such a <i>granny</i> (who knew?). ‘You knit? Crochet?’ </p><p>Malfoy made a noncommittal sound. Harry turned to him; he looked a little pink.  </p><p>‘I like it. Your place. It’s homey,’ Harry said. ‘It’s really nice.’ </p><p>Malfoy shrugged, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. ‘It’s what I imagined a home should look like,’ he murmured, then, clearing his throat, said louder, ‘Should be like.’ </p><p>That’s … lovely. ‘It does. It is.’ Because why not? Why not fill a flat with whatever you like, whatever interests you, regardless of how strange it might look to others?  </p><p>‘It’s everything I was …' </p><p>‘Hmm?’ </p><p>‘Never allowed to have, or enjoy.’ </p><p>Harry froze, considering that. </p><p>‘Yes, well, your room is down the hall,’ Malfoy said, shifting his weight under Harry’s scrutiny. ‘First door on the left. The bathroom is across from yours. My room’s at the end. Kitchen’s back there.’ He gestured behind himself. ‘So. There you are.’ </p><p>Harry blinked. ‘Thanks. I’ll put my bag down in the room then.’ </p><p>Malfoy nodded, and watched him neutrally as he turned to walk down the hall.  </p><p>The guest bedroom was small and simply furnished. A twin bed took up most of the space, and it had a cosy patchwork quilt laid on top and several mismatched pillows—all in earth tones. A painted seascape hung above it, with crashing waves against a rocky cliff, under a stormy sky. There was a wooden nightstand next to the bed, a matching dresser, and a single window through which you could spot a red-leaved tree. </p><p>Harry tossed his bag on the bed and smiled. It was nice, he decided. Then he turned back to go find Malfoy again. He wasn’t in the living room, so Harry went on through to the kitchen. And then there he was—standing there, past the white table, past the stone-topped kitchen island, near the sink with his back to Harry.  </p><p>Malfoy had Muggle <i>appliances</i>. A microwave, a toaster, an oven, a refrigerator. And they looked well-used, with chipped paint on some bits. He also had a blue and white chequered floor, with cheerful yellow paint on the walls. It all defied Harry’s preconceptions, had Malfoy always been this way? </p><p>Harry eyed the kitchen table, not knowing exactly how he felt about it. The fantasy ... This was the spot Malfoy imagined himself bent over, with Harry thrusting into him. (As if fantasy-Harry would just fuck fantasy-Malfoy over the table, without first commenting on the amazing décor—but that was neither here nor there). Harry tried to quell a blush coming, along with the beginnings of arousal. Hagrid. Hagrid in a thong lounging on a beach. (No offence meant to Hagrid of course). That seemed to help some. </p><p>‘Tea?’ asked Malfoy, over his shoulder, as he fiddled about at the counter. </p><p>‘Sure.’ </p><p>Malfoy put the kettle on, and pulled some mugs out from the top cupboard, setting them down on the kitchen island that was bare except for a single silver toaster. Harry sat at the table and fiddled with the edge of a purple quilted placemat, as he tried not to think about that fantasy anymore.  </p><p>‘This is … quite different from the way you grew up, isn’t it?’ Harry hoped he’d worded that neutrally-enough. </p><p>‘That’s rather the whole point,’ Malfoy said, without turning his head. </p><p>Harry nodded, though Malfoy couldn’t see him. Well, Malfoy had achieved it. His flat was about as different from the Manor as Harry could imagine. He cleared his throat. ‘So what’s on the agenda for the day?’ Harry asked, to keep himself from thinking about the table again. </p><p>Malfoy cast a glance at him over his shoulder. ‘Well, your appointment is at eleven, mine’s at half-eleven. After that ... lunch? Then I suppose we figure it out from there.’ </p><p>Harry hummed acknowledgement. </p><p>The kettle whistled, Malfoy poured the water into their mugs, and brought them both to the table. </p><p>‘Thanks,’ Harry said, accepting his “Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada” mug. ‘Have you been to Vegas?’ </p><p>‘Oh Merlin, no. Can you imagine?’  </p><p>Harry shook his head. No, Harry could not picture Draco Malfoy in Las Vegas. Amongst slot machines and flashing lights.  </p><p>Malfoy sat down opposite him. ‘I got the mug second-hand. Like most of the things here.’ </p><p>‘Ah.’ He loved it, loved that Malfoy had it. He smiled at the ridiculous mug. </p><p>Malfoy was staring at him. ‘I … I have an inheritance from my maternal grandmother. You would’ve liked her, she was kind, kind<i>er</i>. Soft-spoken.’ </p><p>Harry blinked. He didn’t know why Malfoy told him that. </p><p>‘It isn’t much, but it’s enough to get by. It’s enough for rent, for a while.’ </p><p>Harry looked around. <i>Oh</i>. So Malfoy was saying … </p><p>‘I’ve refused anything from my parents. After the war, I … That’s why it’s …' He cleared his throat. ‘But I quite like it this way.’ </p><p>Harry smiled. ‘I do too,’ he said softly. ‘It’s perfect.’ </p><p>Malfoy nodded, and they sipped their teas, Harry’s black, Malfoy’s milky and sweet. It was the same lovely Malfoy estate tea. </p><p>‘Oh,’ Malfoy said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at the cupboards. ‘I might have some biscuits somewhere.’ </p><p>He stood up and began rummaging around, pulling boxes out and setting them onto the counter. He eventually found some chocolate digestives, and poured a bunch out onto a plate.  </p><p>Charming, that was the word for it all, Harry decided.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>It felt odd to be back at his Mind Healer’s office, the same place he’d felt amongst his lowest and most lonely during the summer. At a time when his grief had hit him like a brick wall, when it’d felt like that brick wall was all he could see—in every direction.<p>Now he felt lighter, felt more like himself, and had Draco Malfoy beside him, of all people. </p><p>It was the same receptionist, Brenda, a middle-aged woman with red lipstick and a mop of dark purple hair. She beamed at them. ‘Welcome back, Harry. Nice to see you again, Draco.’ </p><p>“Thank you.’ Harry smiled at her. Malfoy stayed silent.  </p><p>‘We’re a bit ahead schedule, so you can go in now if you’re ready, Harry.’ </p><p>‘Great, thanks Brenda.’ </p><p>She nodded at him. </p><p>Harry cast a glance at Malfoy, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he moved to sit in the empty waiting area.  </p><p>‘See you soon, then,’ Harry said to him. </p><p>Malfoy nodded, grabbing a magazine from the coffee table and settling into a seat. </p><p>Harry cast him one last questioning glance before pushing open the door to his Mind Healer’s office. </p><p>‘Harry,’ she said fondly, as she swivelled around in her desk chair to face him, wearing a soft smile on her friendly face. She still dressed all in purple, Harry noted. Today it was an eggplant-purple pantsuit.  </p><p>‘Hi Moira,’ Harry grinned back, making a beeline for his usual chair.  </p><p>‘You’re smiling,’ she commented, pulling out a pad and setting it on her lap. ‘That’s lovely to see.’ She kept her desk against the wall, so that she and her clients were both on the same side of it … Harry hadn’t thought about it until now, but it really gave the impression that they were on the same side, facing challenges together. He liked it better this way, better than having a massive desk between them that said: I am the professional, and you are the sick person. </p><p>‘Well, yeah,’ he said breathily. ‘I feel a lot better, honestly. Compared to last summer.’ </p><p>‘That’s wonderful to hear, Harry.’ Her eyes squinted when she smiled. ‘How did that happen?’ </p><p>He exhaled a breath. She was always getting him to think. And reflect. ‘Well … honestly, I think allowing myself to safely experience the things I wanted to avoid was helpful. I’m glad I went back to school. I needed to … face it.’ </p><p>Moira nodded.  </p><p>‘I remembered my breathing exercises every time I felt overwhelmed.’ </p><p>‘Very good.’ </p><p>‘And … I got a diary.’ </p><p>‘Did you?’ she seemed pleased. ‘And how was that experience for you?’ </p><p>He laughed a little. ‘Strange. Because … you see, somehow I managed to buy myself a magically-linked journal.’ </p><p>An eyebrow raised.  </p><p>‘And the person on the other end was … the man you have in your waiting room. Malfoy.’ </p><p>‘Malfoy?’ Moira asked thoughtfully. ‘You call each other by your family names?’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ Harry rubbed at his neck. ‘Er, yeah. That all started when we were eleven. An old habit, I suppose.’ </p><p>She hummed. ‘Ah. Do you prefer it that way?’ </p><p>Harry blinked rapidly. He hadn’t really thought about it. He looked at Moira. ‘Seems a bit impersonal doesn’t it?’ She didn’t respond, she only smiled at him. He looked down. ‘And we are … friends, now.’ </p><p>He hadn’t truly realised it until he said it out loud. But it <i>was</i> true, wasn’t it? They’d said they were going to try to be friends, yeah. And they’d already pretty well achieved that—he was staying at his flat, after all.  </p><p>And Malfoy had been great to chat with in the journal ... he was witty, intelligent, insightful. Kind of dry and biting and sarcastic at times, but Harry kind of liked that. And Malfoy helped him through an anxiety attack. He’d invited him into his home. Yeah, they were proper friends.  </p><p>Harry furrowed his brow. ‘We’ve learnt so much about one another through the diary … And he always has something supportive to say, something that helps me, and allows me to see things from a different perspective. I don’t know, a more … grounded perspective, a sensible perspective, I think. He’s become … a real friend.’ </p><p>‘Well, I’m so glad you have each other, Harry. We all need someone we can trust, someone we can depend on, and open up to, who won’t judge us harshly for our secrets.’ </p><p>Harry nodded slowly. Fuck … that was exactly what Malfoy was. It was incredible really … that Malfoy was that non-judgmental person for him, a person who knew so many of Harry’s secrets and didn’t lecture him or treat him like he was damaged. Malfoy … after everything.  </p><p>‘How will you be spending the rest of your weekend?’ </p><p>He smiled, couldn’t help it. ‘Malfoy has a flat in the city. We’re planning to stay there and have, as he calls it, a “Mental Health weekend”.’ </p><p>‘Sounds like fun.’ She laughed, a happy laugh. ‘Ah!’ Moira lifted a finger in the air. ‘I have just the thing for you.’ </p><p>She turned to her computer, clicked the mouse a few times, and the printer sprang to life—filling the room with its mechanical buzzing. Once a crisp page popped out, she handed it over to Harry—without getting up from her swivel chair.  </p><p>He glanced at it—it seemed like a list of activities, things like: bubble bath, watch a favourite film, light a scented candle. Bit romantic, really. </p><p>‘Just some self-care ideas,’ she said. ‘I love that the two of you are doing this together.’ </p><p>Harry smiled, and said softly, ‘Thank you.’ He folded the paper up, and shoved it into his jean pocket. </p><p>‘Now, is there anything else you’d like to chat about?’ </p><p>Harry took a moment and thought about it. ‘No … I think I’m doing pretty good.’ </p><p>She smiled. ‘I’m so happy to hear that, Harry. But call or make an appointment anytime if you need to chat about anything, yeah? Recovery isn’t a destination, and it isn’t always a straight road.’ </p><p>He nodded. ‘Thank you …' He wanted to thank her properly, but wasn’t sure of the correct words. ‘You’ve really helped me ... more than I can say.’ </p><p>‘Ah but you did all the leg work, Harry.’ </p><p>He bit his lip, and nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He couldn’t say those words enough. </p><p>She smiled warmly. ‘Well, we’re done a touch early. But you can send your friend in, if he’s ready.’ </p><p>Harry nodded, tossed her one more grateful smile, and went to collect Malfoy. </p><p>He went into the waiting room, and found Malfoy bent over a magazine—his face hidden from view. ‘Malfoy,’ he said quietly. Malfoy’s face sprung up—looking carefully guarded, but there was something very pinched about him—like he was a spring wound up too tight. ‘I’m done early. You can go in, if you want.’ </p><p>A curt nod, and Malfoy stood up, tossing the magazine to the pile with the others. They made eye contact as they passed each other. Malfoy almost seemed … nervous? Close-up, his eyes were wide, a bit frantic looking.  Harry flashed what he hoped was an encouraging smile. </p><p>So, Harry sat, and read an old volume of Witch Weekly cover to cover. It had an article on Gilderoy Lockhart’s top ten qualities he looked for in a witch. That was how old it was. Harry glanced at the clock; they should be finished soon. He picked up another Witch Weekly. Learned some tips on autumn fashion. Fashion in 1996, that is. </p><p>It was twenty minutes overtime before Malfoy finally emerged. He looked tense; he moved stiffly. Harry stood up, met him at Brenda’s desk, and they paid their bills as Brenda chatted cheerfully with Harry about the weather. Malfoy stayed oddly silent all the while. </p><p>Once paid up, they exited into the hallway, went down the lift, and emerged into the bustling street.  </p><p>‘Lunch?’ Harry asked, a bit uncertainly considering Malfoy’s demeanour. He kept tossing glances at Malfoy, unable to get a read on him. </p><p>‘Mm,’ Malfoy said. </p><p>Not quite an answer, then. They set off, in the general direction of Malfoy’s flat. </p><p>Harry decided to try again. ‘Should we go somewhere? Or get take-away? Do you feel like anything in particular?’ </p><p>‘No,’ Malfoy answered, staring straight ahead. </p><p>Harry grabbed Malfoy by the hand, and pulled him into an alcove. Malfoy looked blankly at their joined hands. </p><p>‘Hey,’ Harry said, tilting his head to try to make eye contact with Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to his. ‘You all right?’ </p><p>‘Fine.’ </p><p>Harry searched for the right thing to say, but he hadn’t a clue. This was getting awkward, but clearly something was the matter even if Malfoy’s wasn’t saying so. </p><p>Draco blinked at him, and opened his mouth to speak. ‘I tend to feel …' He closed his mouth, swallowed. His eyes shifted to the pedestrians passing by. Harry waited, letting him take his time. ‘I tend to feel a bit like a wet tea towel, all wrung out, after these things.’ </p><p>Harry gave a slight squeeze to Malfoy’s hand. ‘Okay.’ </p><p>‘I’m not sure I can eat … just yet …' </p><p>‘That’s fine. We’ll go back to yours? Figure out lunch later?’ </p><p>Malfoy nodded, and they set off again down the road. </p><p>It was back at Malfoy’s flat, when Harry realised that holding hands the whole way wasn’t really normal. Not for two tentative-friends, who’d been adversaries for years. He realised this, because when Malfoy had to drop the hand in order to get his keys out of his pocket, Malfoy had shot him a look then; his cheeks pink.  </p><p>It had been comfortable, though, holding Malfoy’s hand. It fit well in his—the soft, smooth skin, the weight of it. And Malfoy had needed to be comforted, Harry guessed. He’d seemed so lost and spacey, and Harry just wanted to help him, to try to help ground him. It couldn’t be <i>that</i> weird.  </p><p>And Malfoy could’ve pulled away, he supposed. </p><p>Inside, Malfoy was fiddling with his keys, looking towards the living room, seemingly lost. </p><p>‘All right, so, why don’t you get comfortable, then? I could make tea?’ Harry began. </p><p>‘Wine,’ Malfoy corrected. </p><p>Harry had to laugh. ‘Okay. Wine. And it’s—?’ </p><p>‘Bottom cupboard, on the left. Corkscrew in the drawer beside the sink.’ </p><p>‘Okay. Great,’ Harry said, licking at his bottom lip, and moving into the kitchen to get it started.  </p><p>Malfoy walked off, disappearing past the living room.  </p><p>Harry found wine glasses, and he was just pouring their drinks when Malfoy emerged—in a white t-shirt and black joggers. Shit. Harry was momentarily struck dumb. It was just so … casual. Muggle. Domestic. And he had bare arms—Malfoy never had bare arms. Harry saw a flash of Malfoy’s Dark Mark—faded, mangled. </p><p>Malfoy tossed something grey at him, Harry caught it with one hand. Grey joggers. Malfoy’s clothes. </p><p>Malfoy stifled a yawn. ‘In case you want to get comfortable or whatever. I don’t know what you brought with you.’ As an afterthought he added, ‘They’re clean.’ </p><p>Harry nodded. ‘Okay.’ And his voice had a thickness to it. Harry shook his head, as if to clear it, and made his way to the spare bedroom.  </p><p>He put on Malfoy’s grey joggers. They smelled faintly like him, and they felt soft on his legs. So much nicer than jeans, really. It’d been a good call.  </p><p>When Harry returned, he found Malfoy on the couch, wrapped in a huge multi-coloured knitted blanket. The wine glasses were set in front of him—set on knitting magazines upon the blue coffee table, along with the open wine bottle.  </p><p>Harry sat beside him, leaving a respectable distance, and picked up a glass for himself and the other to hand to Malfoy. Malfoy released a hand from his blanket cocoon to grab it.  </p><p>‘To mental health,’ Harry said with a wry smile, lifting his glass. </p><p>‘Mental health,’ Draco echoed. </p><p>They drank. It was a nice red wine, but not that Harry was any kind of expert. He leaned back, letting his legs splay out. </p><p>‘Want to watch a film, then?’ Harry asked.  </p><p>‘All right.’ </p><p>‘Kung Fu or rom-com?’ Harry asked through a breathy laugh. </p><p>‘You can choose, I like all my films.’ </p><p>Harry laughed a little again. He took his wine glass with him to inspect the shelf. He could almost feel Malfoy’s eyes on him. He wondered what Malfoy thought of him wearing his clothes, because it felt a bit intimate to Harry. Thankfully, Malfoy couldn’t see his blush from this angle. </p><p>He ended up picking a Bruce Lee film, since he didn’t think he could handle watching a romantic comedy with Malfoy at this stage of their friendship.  </p><p>Harry put the disc in, and settled back onto the couch, tucking his legs underneath himself. Malfoy wordlessly handed him his own multi-coloured knitted blanket from the chair beside him. </p><p>‘Did you make these blankets yourself?’ Harry wondered out loud, smoothing his fingers over the wool on his lap. The blankets were a little wonky, some areas more tightly knit than others.  </p><p>‘Yes,’ Malfoy replied, staring at the screen. ‘This summer.’ </p><p>‘Mm, nice,’ Harry said absentmindedly, trying to turn his attention back to the movie. </p><p>It wasn’t easy. The proximity of Malfoy’s body felt charged, electric. Harry had to think, had to wonder, at his own feelings.  </p><p>He’d gotten a bit upset about Malfoy not wanting to kiss him. But … that’d been for the best probably. Because if he was sitting next to Malfoy, knowing what it was like to kiss him, then he might want to kiss him again. And they were just friends, both still recovering from their problems, from the war. </p><p>It’d be inappropriate of Harry. Very inappropriate.  </p><p>But part of him still felt … somewhat rejected. And it’s fine to be rejected. It’s well within Malfoy’s rights to reject him.  </p><p>Just … what did that mean for Harry, that it still stung a bit? Merlin … did it mean that Harry fancied Draco Malfoy? Well that was … that was not something he needed to figure out now. </p><p>And then there’d been that fantasy. Which had been very hot and a little confusing and … </p><p>Harry swallowed. </p><p>Right. The movie. </p><p>Bruce Lee was drop-kicking bad guys. Good for him. </p><p>Harry drank the rest of his glass, and set it down on the table. He watched the film—or tried to, anyway. </p><p>The voices on the screen and the punching sound effects, along with the wine, were starting to have a lulling effect on him. Before long, he decided he’d rest his eyes and just listen to the film. Then, before he knew it, he was asleep. </p><p>From some distant place, Harry could feel the shift of Malfoy’s body, as he’d raise the wine glass to his lips. And felt his body shift again as he lowered the glass to rest again on his lap.  </p><p>He woke up with his face against Malfoy’s shoulder, his glasses pushed up on his forehead, and his arms loosely wrapped around Malfoy’s right arm. The film was playing the end credits. </p><p>‘Oh,’ he said, pushing himself up. </p><p>‘Morning,’ Malfoy said, with a smirk that wasn’t unfriendly. </p><p>Harry adjusted his glasses and stretched his arms outwards. ‘I fell asleep.’ </p><p>‘I noticed.’ </p><p>‘Sorry about—’ </p><p>Malfoy shook his head, as if to say it’s fine. </p><p>Harry’s stomach took that opportunity to rumble, reminding him they’d skipped lunch. ‘We should eat.’ </p><p>‘I suppose so, yes.’ </p><p>‘This is far too late for lunch.’ </p><p>Malfoy rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll survive, Potter.’</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>They ended up at a fish &amp; chips place down the street, still dressed in their joggers (‘It’s mental health weekend after all,’ Harry had insisted) with jumpers overtop their t-shirts for warmth.<p>They sat in a red and white chequered booth near the window. </p><p>‘Are you still a damp tea towel, then?’ Harry asked, straightening his napkin. </p><p>‘Yes, but I’ve been dried and ironed,’ Malfoy mused. ‘So, decidedly better.’ </p><p>‘Okay, ah, that’s good?’ </p><p>‘I think so.’ </p><p>Their food arrived and Harry dug right in. Malfoy was a little more refined. </p><p>Between mouthfuls of warm, salty chips, Harry asked, ‘So what else should we do today?’ </p><p>Malfoy finished chewing, and swallowed. Then he dipped a chip in some tartar sauce, really taking his time with it. ‘There was something … But I wanted to get your thoughts on it first.’ </p><p>‘Okay?’  </p><p>Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I hope you won’t get angry about it, it’s just … just a thought.’ </p><p>‘Go on, then.’ He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it so far.  </p><p>Malfoy sighed, and met Harry’s eyes briefly. ‘It’s … my Dark Mark.’ </p><p>Harry’s eyebrows shot up on their own. He forced them down.  </p><p>‘I was thinking of, perhaps, covering it up with another tattoo. But I know that I deserve the Mark,’ he rushed to add. ‘I deserve to live with my choices, so I should keep it. As punishment. As reminder of all the evil I’ve done, the evil I am …’ He grimaced, and ran both hands through his hair. ‘I should keep it, shouldn’t I?’ </p><p>Harry exhaled. This was not what he’d ever expect … Malfoy was not this upfront with him, not in person, not about the war. And he looked impossibly exposed sitting across from him. So, Harry thought about it before responding, seriously thought about it. Malfoy went back to fiddling nervously with a chip and avoiding Harry’s eye. </p><p>This felt like an important moment to Harry. He could tell Malfoy to keep it, to live with the proof of what he had been, and what he had done, right there on his skin. Never able to forget, and, perhaps never able to forgive himself. </p><p>Or, conversely, Malfoy could get rid of it. Cover it up. Would that be like it never happened?  </p><p>No, Harry decided. Malfoy was going to remember anyways, just like Harry was always going to remember the war. A faded, evil, scar of a tattoo was not going to change that.  </p><p>Harry remembered what he and Moira had talked about that morning, about keeping Malfoy at a distance. He didn’t want that, not anymore. He was sure of that much, at least.  </p><p>‘I want to call you Draco, all right?’ </p><p>Startled, Draco looked at Harry. He searched Harry’s eyes for a beat, then nodded. </p><p>‘Draco,’ he tried out the name again, it came out a bit breathy. It rolled off the tongue—so much smoother-sounding than the harsh “Malfoy”. Harry cleared his throat. ‘I can’t say you didn’t do bad things.’ Harry licked his lips, before speaking carefully. ‘But you’re not evil.’ </p><p>A muscle twitched in Draco’s jaw, but he didn’t look away. </p><p>Harry kept going. ‘The way I see it is … you were a child, same as the rest of us. You were coerced by quite possibly the most evil wizard who has ever lived. Your family, who were the ones who roped you in with Voldemort in the first place, were in danger. You did what you felt you had to, to survive. For your family to survive. That’s not to say that I think you’re completely innocent … I just … I just don’t think the rest of your life should be ruined because of it.’ He took a breath. ‘You don’t need the Mark as a reminder, because you’re not going to forget your past. You’ll never forget it, but … hopefully you can find some peace and self-knowledge there. And forgiveness.’ </p><p>Draco stared at him for a drawn-out moment, then folded in on himself, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.  </p><p>Harry felt a pang, in his chest.  </p><p>‘I have a lot of guilt,’ Draco said simply, sucking the air in sharp and shaky through his mouth. </p><p>‘I think … you don’t have to carry all that anymore. You don’t have to punish yourself over and over. But when you remember, when you feel guilty, you can make a choice again. You can choose every day to be a different person than you were during and before the war.’ Harry hoped he was saying the right thing. He wasn’t at all prepared for this conversation. He meant it, though, everything he was saying. </p><p>Draco nodded, and didn’t remove his hands from his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry—for what I did to you.’ His voice cracked. </p><p>Harry rubbed his face, looking down at the table. ‘I forgive you.’ And he did. </p><p>Draco lowered his hands, and his eyes were red-lined and wet-looking. ‘How could you?’ </p><p>Harry shrugged. ‘For the reasons I just said. And, I think someone should’ve helped you in school. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, or me, even. No one gave you a proper choice—proper guidance from an adult who knew better. And ... I guess I also forgive you just because I want to.’ <i>And because I might like you as a person,</i> Harry thought grimly. <i>Probably not just platonically</i>. </p><p>Draco blinked at him for a moment, then looked down at his food. ‘I’m not sure I would’ve accepted any help.’ </p><p>Harry bit at his lip. ‘Okay. Well it doesn’t matter. What happened, happened. We only have the present. And you’re obviously different now anyway. You apologised to Hermione. You’ve been defending younger years in the halls. I saw you say “thank you” to a house elf. You have Muggle DVDs, and you’re hanging out with me, for fuck’s sake.’ </p><p>Draco had to smile at that. ‘I suppose.’ </p><p>Harry leaned forward a little. ‘For the record, I’m sorry too.’ </p><p>He peered up at him dubiously. ‘For what?’ </p><p>‘For not being better to you.’ </p><p>“Oh, fuck off.’ </p><p>Harry tried to smile. ‘Well, specifically, for the … bathroom.’ </p><p>Draco set his mouth in a firm line. ‘It’s fine.’ </p><p>‘I could’ve …' <i>Killed you</i>. </p><p>‘It’s fine.’ Draco seemed to tense up. ‘I was going to cast Crucio.’ </p><p>Harry exhaled. ‘Well, I’m sorry anyway. I didn’t know what the spell did. And that isn’t a good excuse, but if I knew … I wouldn’t have used it.’ </p><p>‘Okay, Potter.’ Draco groaned and corrected himself. ‘<i>Harry</i>.’ He scrunched up his nose. ‘Are we really doing that? Ugh, it feels weird.’ </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘Might take practice.’</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>They went to a wizard tattoo parlour after they finished eating. It didn’t look much different from the Muggle ones Harry’s passed by before: chipping black paint, tattoo chairs, bottles of coloured inks, and heavily-tatted employees. Draco spoke with a tattoo artist in the back, while Harry walked around the storefront, looking at the drawings of tattoos posted on the walls as he waited.<p>He froze when he found a familiar design, a sort-of X-shaped thing. He turned to the blue-haired, tatted and pierced receptionist, who was scribbling something on a ledger. ‘Um, excuse me?’ </p><p>She glanced up at him. ‘Yeah?’ </p><p>‘Can you tell me what this is?’ </p><p>She got up and sauntered over to see what he was looking at. ‘It’s a rune. Gyfu, meaning gift or generosity.’ </p><p>‘Oh. I’d like it.’  </p><p>She laughed. ‘Okay mate, I’ll see what I can do.’ She walked off to the back to speak with someone. </p><p>Sirius’d had the same tattoo. </p><p>A huge, burly, tattooed man came out to Harry. He eyed the poster in front of Harry. ‘This one?’ he grunted, pointing at the Gyfu. </p><p>‘Yes.’ </p><p>The man ripped it off the wall, and signalled Harry to follow him. </p><p>And that was how Harry found himself getting his left forearm tattooed right beside Draco. </p><p>Draco made a few more pained noises than Harry did, but Harry decided not to mention it. </p><p>Harry was finished first. He loved it. The tattoo artist, Gary, pressed a hot towel to his arm. Then some ointment, and a bandage.  </p><p>‘Keep the bandage on for two hours,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t submerge the arm in water for three weeks. Showers are okay.’ </p><p>Harry nodded.  </p><p>Gary gave him an aftercare handout and some special lotion soap and a salve. </p><p>With that all taken care of, Harry turned to Draco. ‘Can I watch?’ </p><p>Draco grunted with a pained expression. ‘Sit with me. Hold my hand.’ </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘All right.’ </p><p>He pulled up a stool so that he could sit on Draco’s right. A long-black-haired witch was bent over his left arm, tattooing him. Harry took Draco’s right hand into his lap, and peered over to watch. </p><p>‘I’m not sure this is good for mental health,’ Draco said through gritted teeth. He had sweat on his brow. </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘You’re doing well.’ He absentmindedly rubbed circles on the back of Draco’s hand as he watched a grass snake start to appear on Draco’s arm. ‘Why grass snake?’ </p><p>‘They’re friendly snakes. Non-venomous. I’m still a Slytherin, so it seemed fitting.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And, besides, snakes symbolise rebirth … because they periodically shed their skin.’ </p><p>Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the dark-green image forming. ‘Were you jealous I could talk to snakes?’ </p><p>Draco barked a laugh, a proper laugh. ‘Yes. Of course.’ </p><p>Harry smiled. Then he told Draco about that time at the zoo when he was 10 years old. </p><p>Draco was laughing, as he pulled his hand out of Harry’s to rub it over his face. ‘How did you <i>not know</i> you were a wizard?’ he asked, peeking at Harry from behind his fingers. </p><p>Harry shrugged, grinning. ‘There are so many children’s television programs with talking animals. I must’ve just thought I was like them.’ </p><p>‘Typical Potter.’ </p><p>‘Yeah, yeah.’ </p><p>Draco slipped his soft fingers back into Harry’s hand. Harry accepted them, without comment, but inside his heart was hammering, and he was feeling a bit … floaty. </p><p>The snake was done now—dark green with a yellow collar and friendly-looking. Next the tattoo artist began drawing narcissus flowers around the snake.  </p><p>‘Mm, I think I know the reason for those. For your mum,’ Harry said, letting his fingers idly stroke Draco’s fingers. Evidently he was feeling a bit looser and relaxed with Draco—maybe more daring. </p><p>‘Mmhmm.’ Draco didn’t look put off by the touching. He was smiling a bit. His cheeks were a bit pink though. </p><p>After the flowers, it was a single pink-ish butterfly. </p><p>‘<i>Oh.</i> Like the stickers. I suppose butterflies symbolise rebirth too. Change. The whole caterpillar-to-cocoon-to-butterfly thing,’ Harry said. </p><p>‘Yeah.’ </p><p>It was a lovely tattoo, as a whole. Harry really liked it. The look of it and the meaning behind it. The butterfly wings flapped faintly, and one of the flowers swayed as if there were a breeze. </p><p>Draco went through the same instructions Harry had. Harry released Draco’s hand when it was time to get going. Draco was still decidedly pink. </p><p>‘So what’s next for our mental health?’ Harry asked. </p><p>‘Not sure,’ Draco said, not looking at Harry. </p><p>‘Hmm. Maybe we should figure out dinner.’ </p><p>‘We just ate, <i>Harry</i>.’ </p><p>‘Sure, but maybe I’ll make something? We’d need to buy ingredients and get organised.’ </p><p>‘You actually … want to cook?’ Draco looked at Harry now, with a quizzical look. </p><p>‘Sure.’ </p><p>So they hit up a Tesco on their way home. Draco still looked flawless in fluorescent lighting, Harry noted. That skin, that impossibly light hair … Okay, he needed to put the brakes on those thoughts. </p><p>He pulled out a trolley, and indicated for Draco to push it. </p><p>‘Have you been to a supermarket before?’ Harry wondered aloud, as they entered the produce section. There was something odd about Draco Malfoy doing something as normal and unremarkable as shopping for groceries. But it was dawning on Harry that Draco really was a proper regular person, rather than some redeemed cartoon villain or misguided victim or posh viscount who sat up in his mansion and had everything served to him. Harry felt a nagging of guilt that he’d ever suspected Draco capable of nothing more than any of that. </p><p>Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, pushing the trolley past a display of bananas. ‘Of course I have.’ </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘Sorry, I just thought that it <i>could</i> be within the realm of possibilities. You don’t really cook, right?’ </p><p>Draco conceded with a sigh. ‘I suppose that’s true. They have ready-made meals though, and crisps and biscuits. Milk for my tea. I came here in the summer, when I wasn’t ordering take-away.’ </p><p>Harry smiled, looking around at the veggie options. ‘How about we do a chicken vindaloo? How are you with spice?’ </p><p>‘Not great.’ </p><p>Harry laughed again, tossing onion and garlic into the trolley. ‘We can make it mild, then.’  </p><p>‘So your father …' Draco began, tentatively. </p><p>‘Yeah?’ He picked out some ginger. </p><p>‘He was from India?’ </p><p>‘Oh. Yeah. His family was from Bombay,’ Harry said, grabbing a pack of boneless, skinless chicken breast.  </p><p>Draco hummed acknowledgment. ‘Have you ever been?’ </p><p>Harry glanced at Draco. ‘To India? No.’ </p><p>‘Would you want to?’ </p><p>Harry stopped moving and stared at Draco. No one had ever asked him that before. It really hadn’t been possible to travel before, what with Voldemort and all. But now … ‘Yes. I’d really love that.’ </p><p>Draco smiled a little, nodding.  </p><p>Harry turned back to eye the shelves, walking again. Yes. He really wanted to go. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? He could attend Holi, he could visit the Taj Mahal. He had a whole life in front of him now, with Voldemort gone. He could go nearly anywhere, see nearly anything. </p><p>‘How’d you learn to cook?’ Draco asked. </p><p>That rapidly brought Harry out of his fantasy.   </p><p>He took a deep breath. ‘My aunt and uncle forced me to cook for them when I was a kid, so … so I’ve been pretty used to it from a young age.’ He picked up a packet of basmati rice, and tossed in the trolley. ‘But it wasn’t until this past summer that I started cooking again, for <i>me</i> this time. I taught myself to make Indian dishes.’ </p><p>‘What do you mean “forced” you?’ Draco asked, with an edge. </p><p>Harry shrugged, it was a long story and it would be awkward to get into it right then and there. ‘I wasn’t exactly treated like an adopted son.’ </p><p>‘Harry …’ Draco said, looking into Harry’s eyes pointedly. </p><p>He smiled at Draco’s concern. ‘It’s fine. It was a long time ago.’ </p><p>Draco’s mouth fixed into a firm line, and they kept on walking. </p><p>They made it to the spice aisle.  </p><p>‘Hey, what spices do you have, anyway? I should’ve looked before we left,’ Harry asked as his eyes scanned the bottles for cumin seeds. He practically felt Draco sigh. </p><p>‘I don’t know. I probably have salt and pepper.’ </p><p>‘<i>Probably</i> have salt and pepper,’ Harry echoed, aghast, turning to Draco whom was looking decidedly displeased. ‘You aren’t sure?’ </p><p>Draco shook his head, frowning at the spices. </p><p>Harry started dropping spices into the cart, muttering about salt and pepper. Once satisfied they had a good selection, Harry glanced back at Draco, who was still glaring at the spices.  </p><p>‘Why are you frowning?’ </p><p>‘Because I may have to go to Azkaban after all.’ </p><p>‘What are you talking about?’ </p><p>Draco stared at Harry, his eyes blazing. ‘That Muggle family of yours.’ </p><p>‘You don’t even know the half of it,’ he said wryly, smiling crooked. ‘And I <i>guess</i> I appreciate the offer of murdering my family for me. But really, it’s fine.’ </p><p>‘It’s not fine. You were such a cute, scrawny little thing. Who could treat a child that way? Who <i>forces</i> a child to cook? It’s not as if they could be expected to be any good at—’ </p><p>‘You thought I was cute?’ Harry grinned, biting at his lip. </p><p>Shaking his head towards the ceiling, Draco replied, ‘That’s what you’re taking away.’ </p><p>‘Do you <i>still</i> think I’m cute?’ he teased. (Couldn’t resist, really.) </p><p>‘Jesus. Fuck off, Potter,’ Draco said with exasperation. </p><p>Harry exhaled a laugh, and continued walking, with one hand resting on the trolley Draco was pushing. </p><p>They finished up getting the last few things and headed back to Draco’s flat with heaps of bags in hand. </p><p>They set everything in on the kitchen island, and Draco walked off to turn on the wireless to a classical music station. </p><p>Harry laid out all their purchases into organised sections and began searching for a cutting board, which, Draco evidently didn’t have. </p><p>‘Do you have a rice cooker?’ Harry wondered next, poking around in the cupboard under the sink. </p><p>‘Mm? No. What’s that?’ Draco asked, as he went to go pick up their half full wine bottle from the living room.  </p><p>‘It’s a thing that … cooks rice …'  </p><p>Draco came back with the bottle, and poured it into two fresh glasses. </p><p>‘What about a whisk?’ </p><p>‘I don’t know what you’re saying.’ </p><p>‘And I can’t find your alleged “salt and pepper”.’ </p><p>Draco made a dismissive hand wave towards the right side of the kitchen. ‘That drawer there.’ </p><p>‘A drawer?’ Harry echoed, moving to open it. Sure enough, it had paper packets of salt and pepper, along with soy sauce and mustard. ‘Draco … this doesn’t count.’ </p><p>‘Hmm? Sure it does. It’s real salt, real pepper, isn’t it?’ Draco said, sitting at the table with his glass and stretching his legs out. </p><p>Harry just looked at Draco in disbelief for a moment, shaking his head. Then he took one more sweeping look around the kitchen before announcing, ‘I’m going to my house.’ </p><p>Draco sat up straighter. ‘You want to leave?’ </p><p>Harry blinked at Draco. ‘No! No, I mean, sorry, just … to pick up a cutting board. A salt and pepper shaker. My rice cooker. Maybe a good knife.’ </p><p>Draco relaxed back into his seat. ‘Oh. Okay then.’ </p><p>‘Do you want to come along? See my house?’ </p><p>Draco set his wine glass down on the table and leaned forward. ‘You’re … inviting me?’ </p><p>‘Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?’ Harry asked. He didn’t think it was a big deal. </p><p>Draco worried the side of his lip with an incisor. ‘All right.’ </p><p>Harry connected their Floos so that they could pop over and back easily. And then, they went through. </p><p>They popped out in Harry’s living room, which was a bit more Harry-ish now, with framed Order photos, and pictures of Ron, Hermione, and a few other friends. He had a television, a sofa, an area rug, some armchairs. It was homey enough, he figured. Lots of rich, dark wood and warm colours. </p><p>Draco looked around in the manner of someone who is nosey but trying to appear polite.  </p><p>‘It was Sirius’ house; he left it to me,’ Harry explained. ‘Before that it was his mum’s. She was Walburga Black. I guess she was your …?’ </p><p>‘Great aunt,’ Draco finished, looking at Harry with wide eyes. </p><p>Harry smiled. ‘Well … I could show you around, if you’d like …' </p><p>‘Yeah, okay.’ </p><p>Draco trailed behind him, as Harry lead them through the rooms, offering titbits of information on what he’s changed, and what it used to be like. They went out into the garden. Draco brushed his fingertips over the leaves on some of Harry’s plants. </p><p>‘Oh! I should show you the family tree. You’re on there,’ Harry said. </p><p>‘All right.’ </p><p>Harry led him to the Black family tapestry. Draco’s eyes passed over it all, with mouth set in a firm line.  </p><p>After a while he finally spoke. ‘All the best one’s have been burnt off.’ </p><p>Harry looked from Draco’s face to the tapestry. Sirius. Andromeda. He licked his lips. ‘We could burn yours off too.’ </p><p>Draco laughed then, breathy and sweet. ‘It’s all right, and though I appreciate the sentiment, maybe next time. I’m starting to get hungry now, maybe we should get a move on?’ </p><p>‘Right. Yeah. Sure.’ </p><p>They went back to Harry’s kitchen, where he pulled out everything he thought they might need from the cupboards and drawers, piling them onto the big kitchen table where they used to have their Order meals. From mixing bowls to good knives to baking trays … it was a lot. Draco looked around as Harry worked, running his hand over the old, scratched table top. </p><p>When Harry was satisfied he had everything he needed, he stuffed it all into cloth grocery bags, and they hauled them back to Draco’s. </p><p>Harry set about organizing everything, while Draco sat back at the table with his glass of wine.  </p><p>‘Do you want to help?’ Harry asked.   </p><p>Draco was watching him with his head resting on a hand. He shrugged—a quick upward motion of his shoulders without lifting his head from his hand. ‘It’s nice having you do all the work.’ A lazy smile grew on his mouth. </p><p>He had to laugh. ‘Fine. Whatever.’ </p><p>Harry used his own bowl to whisk together the egg mixture for the naan dough. He felt Draco staring at his arms. He looked up—and yeah, Draco was eyeing his work. ‘I feel like I’m on a cooking show right now.’ </p><p>Draco smiled. ‘That’s what you could do after school. The “Harry Potter Cooking Show”. Or would we call it “The Boy Who Lived … to Cook”?’ </p><p>He rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t even know if I’m any good.’ </p><p>‘It doesn’t matter if you’re any good. You’re Harry Potter. Everyone would watch anyway.’ </p><p>Harry sighed. ‘That’s exactly what I don’t want.’ </p><p>Draco eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You really don’t like the fame, then? I’d always thought you were pretending not to like it. But you really don’t?’ </p><p>‘<i>No</i>. I really fucking don’t.’ He turned away, in order to add the flour and salt into a separate large bowl.  </p><p>Draco made a hum of acknowledgment.  </p><p>Harry made a dip in the centre of the dry ingredients, and poured the wet ingredients into it—like a little lake.  </p><p>He hated the implication … he hated that Draco would think that he wanted … Whatever. It didn’t matter. </p><p>Next he stirred it all together slowly, mixing gradually. He went over to the sink to grab a bit of water to soften the dough, and when he turned back around, Draco had his back resting up against the kitchen island, facing Harry.  </p><p>'Sorry,' Draco said, with a slight smile, following him with his eyes as Harry approached the island. Draco turned his body towards him when Harry set the bowl down. 'Why don't you like it, though? I'm only curious, because, well, most people desire fame, or fortune, or both, and it's generally seen as a sign of success. Something <i>good</i>.' </p><p>Harry spread loose flour over the clean countertop and tipped his bowl over, so that the dough fell down with a plop, making a small cloud of flour puff up in the air. 'I'm famous because my parents were murdered protecting me.' He pressed his hands into the dough, and kneaded—hard. 'I'm famous because a homicidal maniac tried to kill me several times.' Harry kept kneading, throwing his weight into the base of his palms.  </p><p>'Right,' Draco said gently. 'But you're famous for a lot more than that. For being … well, the one to vanquish him. The one who triumphed against all odds … who united a resistance. And at only seventeen—' </p><p>Harry felt the annoyance he'd been feeling slide off of him. Draco meant well. He’d only been interested in Harry’s reasoning—Harry didn’t need to be so defensive. He smiled, towards the dough under his fingers, and shot Draco a look. 'It almost seems as if you're complimenting me.' </p><p>Draco clamped his mouth shut and shot him a half-hearted rueful glare.  </p><p>Shrugging, Harry relented, 'I just don't like it. The attention, the expectations. I don't want them.' He sighed and kneaded the dough a little more gently. 'Anyway, I hate to bring up tea towels again but have you got any clean ones?' </p><p>Huffing a little laugh, Draco said, 'Bit of a topic change there, but yes, I do.' He pushed himself off from the island and headed for a drawer to poke around. He returned with a pear-patterned one pinched between two fingers. </p><p>'Perfect,' Harry said, taking it from him.  </p><p>'What are you doing with it?' </p><p>'Covering the dough for a bit.' Harry set the dough on a baking tray and dampened the tea towel before laying it overtop. </p><p>'I'm sorry I annoyed you.' </p><p>'You didn't,' Harry lied. Lying was an automatic response. </p><p>'I definitely did, but I won't bring that topic up again. Besides, wizards aren’t in the habit of using televisions, so your cooking show would come with too many complications.' Draco smiled at him. 'Anyway, I'm getting hungry, how long will this be?' </p><p>Harry snorted. 'A couple hours—dough has to rise a bit.' And, at the look on Draco's face, Harry added with a roll of his eyes, 'Have a biscuit in the meantime.' </p><p>Next Harry began working on the marinade for the chicken, and Draco settled back at the table with his wine and an opened box of chocolate biscuits in front of him. They fell into an easy, comfortable silence, broken up by a few light-hearted comments or questions. It was nice. </p><p>After the chicken had been marinating in the sauce for a good while, Harry decided to start chopping the onion. </p><p>‘What is happening?’ exclaimed Draco after a moment. </p><p>Harry looked at him, tears were streaming down the man’s face. It caused a jolt in Harry’s chest. Until it occurred to him, that it was only the onion. </p><p>‘Wow, you’re really sensitive.’ </p><p>‘To what?!’ </p><p>Draco couldn’t open his eyes. </p><p>‘The onion,’ Harry said, still chopping. ‘Light eyes are more sensitive to it, I’ve heard.’ </p><p>Draco got up, backed away towards the living room, squinting in Harry's general direction. ‘The <i>onion</i>? That is an evil vegetable. How can you stand it?’ </p><p>Harry shrugged, looking down at his half-chopped onion. ‘It doesn’t really bother me. My glasses might help a little, too.’ </p><p>Draco huffed from the living room, wiping his eyes with his wonky knitted blanket. ‘Let me know when it’s safe to return.’ </p><p>He smiled, shaking his head. ‘I will.’ </p><p>Harry finished chopping, then he readied the rice cooker to start. </p><p>‘You can probably come back now,’ Harry called out, as he put a pan over the range and set it to low heat. Harry added half a cup of oil and the chopped onions. </p><p>He was stirring the onions, with a wooden spoon, when he registered that Draco was beside him. Harry’s heart rate sped up just at the knowledge of it. He glanced at Draco, wine glass in hand, frowning down at the browning onions.  </p><p>‘Why are those retched vegetables like that?’ Draco asked, not taking his eyes off them. </p><p>‘I don’t know, I’m sure there’s some reason for it,’ he said, willing himself to keep it together. ‘You could look it up in the library when we’re back.’ </p><p>‘I will.’ </p><p>It wasn’t really a big deal, but something about Draco looking up onions in the library, because their weekend together <i>happened</i>, felt significant, somehow. Like, this wasn’t a one-off. Something would carry forward.  </p><p>Draco turned to lean his back against the counter, and took a sip from his glass. Harry couldn’t help but glance at the long lines of his body, the leanness of him. The easy gracefulness he carried.  </p><p>When had everything shifted? When had Draco Malfoy become so bloody attractive?  </p><p>Harry kept stirring the onions, maybe more often than he needed to. ‘I kept the red chilies to a minimum,’ he said, mainly to distract himself.  </p><p>Draco hummed his acknowledgment. Harry saw him take another drink of wine out of the corner of his eye. </p><p>It’d been about fifteen minutes, and the onions were sufficiently cooked. Harry glanced at Draco, noticed the bandage on his arm as he lifted the glass up to his mouth. Harry flicked off the range—the onions could sit for a minute. ‘Oh, ah, it’s been two hours, we can take our bandages off.’  </p><p>‘Oh. Right.’ Draco looked down at his own left arm.  </p><p>So, standing there in Draco’s kitchen, they peeled off their bandages at the same time. </p><p>Harry ran a finger lightly over his tattoo. Smiling to himself. Feeling a little closer to Sirius in that moment. He looked at Draco, who seemed visibly relaxed, staring down at his own arm.  </p><p>Draco looked up at Harry then, his eyes bright and so alive. ‘It feels … freeing.’ </p><p>Harry smiled. ‘I’m glad.’ He was. </p><p>Draco’s tattoo really was lovely. And he deserved to be freed from all that darkness—the fear, the impossible burdens placed on his shoulders, the knowledge that if he failed in his task his family could be killed. Now … now his arm was something beautiful. It told a story, not of inservitude to a deranged fascist any longer, but of rebirth and renewal. Change … for the better, and by choice. </p><p>Neither of them were completely healed, sure. But they were better, so much better. Just the fact that they could stand in the same kitchen, chatting as Harry cooked them dinner, said so much about how far they’d come. </p><p>Harry smiled to himself, and went to grab his untouched glass of wine from the countertop. Then, he continued with his cooking.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>They sat down across from each other, with a plate overflowing with naans, a huge bowl of rice, and the vindaloo set between them.<p>'Smells fantastic,' Draco said, reaching for the rice to scoop some onto his plate. ‘Thanks so much for cooking.’ </p><p>'I hope you like it,' Harry said, smiling through his bit lower lip. He'd never cooked for anyone while <i>wanting</i> them to enjoy it. He hoped it wasn't too spicy or overcooked or anything. </p><p>Draco nodded. 'I'm sure I will,' he said, as he scooped out some vindaloo for overtop the rice. 'And are you going to watch me the entire time, or are you going to eat too?' </p><p>Huffing a laugh, Harry leant forward and got himself some rice. 'Yeah, yeah.' </p><p>Harry tried not to stare when Draco brought the first mouthful up to his lips, but he did anyway. Draco chewed, and started to look amused. His eyes met Harry's as he finished chewing and swallowed, shaking his head slightly. The look on his face turned into an all-out smile. 'It's amazing, Harry. <i>So</i> good.' </p><p>He blinked. 'Yeah? Don't lie to me, it won't help me in the long run if you lie to me.' </p><p>Draco laughed. 'I'm not lying. It's bloody delicious. Now <i>eat</i>. I don't want to have my entire meal with you sitting silently, judging my reactions.' </p><p>'Fine,' Harry said happily. And he dug in. It was a nice vindaloo, if he said so himself. Could be spicier though. </p><p>They ate in comfortable silence for a while, and sipped their wines.  </p><p>'The naan is lovely,' Draco said, as he sopped up some vindaloo sauce. 'Nothing like fresh, warm bread, is there?' </p><p>Harry laughed under his breath, and nodded. 'Agreed.' </p><p>Draco spooned some more rice onto his plate. 'Moira asked to see me once a week, starting now.' </p><p>Harry blinked at him. That meant … well, it meant Moira thought Draco could use a bit more frequent therapy. 'Oh. Are you all right with that?' </p><p>Nodding, Draco spooned some more vindaloo on his plate. 'I think once a month isn't enough.' </p><p>'Well … good. I'm glad she's willing to have more frequent visits.' </p><p>Draco hummed his agreement, and took another naan. </p><p>They stuffed themselves, and it was great. All-in-all, it’d been a very nice day.  </p><p>‘Why did you say yes?’ Draco asked, sopping up the last of his sauce on his plate. </p><p>‘Mm? To what?’ Harry leaned back in his chair; he was feeling very, very full.  </p><p>‘To coming here.’ Draco seemed to be suppressing an eyeroll, which only made Harry want to smile. ‘To actually agreeing to this weekend.’ Draco looked as if he were trying to appear very focussed on his naan, but his postured had tensed slightly. </p><p>‘Oh, well … well we’re friends, aren’t we? We’d committed to that. And you invited me. Plus it was good to see Moira again.’ </p><p>Draco nodded slowly. ‘Takes trust to visit someone’s home, someone who you so recently had been quarrelling with.’ </p><p>‘Or courage,’ Harry added, smiling big. </p><p>‘Gryffindors,’ Draco muttered, but not unkindly. </p><p>‘Thanks for inviting me,’ Harry added softly. </p><p>Draco nodded again, with the edges of his mouth quirking up and down, like he didn’t want to all-out smile.  </p><p>They brought the massive amount of dirty dishes into the sink, and set them to self-clean.  </p><p>After a sleepy game of Wizarding Chess (Draco won), they agreed to retire for the night. The two of them slowed to a stop outside Harry room. </p><p>‘Ah, well ...’ A pink tongue flicked over Draco’s bottom lip. ‘Cleans towels are in the top cupboard in the bathroom if you’d like to shower tonight, or in the morning.’ </p><p>‘Oh. Right. Thanks.’ Harry took a single step into the bedroom and turned around. </p><p>Draco stared at him a beat. ‘Well, ah, goodnight, then. Or, do you need anything? Extra pillow or blankets or …' </p><p>Harry looked around the room and shook his head. It definitely had enough pillows and blankets. He only needed one of each, really. ‘No, no I’m good, thanks.’ He smiled at Draco. This was all a bit weird but … nice. ‘So, goodnight, then. Sleep well.’ </p><p>Nodding, Draco took a step back and said, ‘Yeah. You too.’ </p><p>Harry smiled again, and closed the door. He flicked on the lamp on the nightstand, and changed into pyjamas. After he heard Draco leave the bathroom and shut his bedroom door, Harry slipped out the room and brushed his teeth. He looked pretty relaxed in the mirror, he had to say. He sort of had a little goofy smile. It’d been a good day. A very nice day. </p><p>He crawled into bed, shut off the lamp, and fell asleep rather quickly and easily.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>And Harry did sleep remarkably well. He woke up, with bright sunlight streaming in through the window. He stretched his arms and legs out, smiling. The bed had been comfy and he hadn’t woken up once in the night.<p>Yawning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, and rubbed his face.  </p><p>Okay. He’ll have a shower, get ready, then work on breakfast. He found he was already eager to cook for Draco again. </p><p>After his shower, Harry towelled off his hair, and put Draco's joggers back on. (It wasn't like they were dirty after a day of lounging.) He pulled on a clean t-shirt from his bag, white and plain. And then he headed outside his room to see about breakfast. </p><p>Draco's kitchen was filled with bright, morning light from the east-facing window. He rubbed at his eyes, and filled the kettle up with tap water. He clicked it on to boil. </p><p>Then Harry shuffled over to the refrigerator, and opened it up. Met with a blast of cool air, he remembered: that's right, Draco had nearly nothing to eat.  </p><p>They did have leftover onion and garlic that hadn't gone into the vindaloo. Plus 5 eggs left, since the naan had only required one. And milk. Omelettes?  </p><p>The kettle began to hum. </p><p>Harry closed the fridge and looked around. The drying rack next to the sink was stacked high with their massive array of dishes from yesterday. Maybe he should start with that. So, one-by-one, Harry put items away into the cupboards and drawers. </p><p>The rather-loud kettle whistle blew, so Harry clicked it off and moved aside some plates still left in the drying rack—reaching for his Las Vegas mug. He found Draco's tea tin in the cupboard, and made himself a nice cup. Its almondy, homey aroma filled the kitchen.  </p><p>While he waited for it to cool a bit, Harry got to work, pulling out the clean cutting board, and his good knife. Then he began chopping the onion and garlic. </p><p>He heard a toilet flush, and smiled to himself. Draco must be up. </p><p>Done with the onion and garlic, set in little piles on the cutting board, Harry fished out the frying pan, and set it on the range. Then he went to grab the butter, milk, and eggs from the refrigerator. </p><p>Footsteps. </p><p>Harry turned, and caught Draco mid-yawn, padding into the kitchen. Harry straightened and shut the fridge door. </p><p>Draco had on an old-timey night-shirt, the sort you'd see in a Dickens film. It was off-white and went down to nearly his knees. </p><p>'Morning,' Draco said, making himself yawn again by speaking, as he stepped up to the counter, to see for himself what Harry was up to there. </p><p>Draco's hair was mussed—a little frizzy and clumped in thick strands.  </p><p>He was staring … and Draco had said something. Harry blinked rapidly, and said, 'Good morning.' He cleared his throat, and realised he'd forgotten to pull out the ingredients out from the refrigerator, so he tried again. 'How was your sleep?' he asked, in the direction of the fridge. </p><p>'Good. You?' </p><p>'Great. Was very comfortable.' He was successful in pulling them out this time, and he brought them over to the counter, beside his chopped onion and garlic. </p><p>'What are you doing?' </p><p>'Oh, ah. Do you want onion/garlic omelette for breakfast? Not sure what other options we have, really. But if you'd rather something else—' </p><p>'S'fine,' Draco said, turning back towards the table. 'You chopped onion again.' </p><p>Draco was squinting, but it might've been his sleepiness. </p><p>'Yes.' He watched Draco sink into a chair, facing towards him, and fold his hands on the table—setting his head down to rest on them. Merlin, he really wasn't a morning person, was he? 'Er, tea?' </p><p>'Mmhmm. Please.' </p><p>Harry busied himself with making a cup, with milk and sugar like Draco liked it. He brought it over to him, set it on the table, then turned back to work on the eggs. </p><p>'Thank you,' Draco said softly, pulling the mug closer to himself with both hands. </p><p>By the time the omelettes were ready, with heated-up leftover naan on the side, Draco was looking slightly more perked-up. </p><p>They ate, side by side. </p><p>'This is very good,' said Draco, breaking off another piece of it with the side of his fork. </p><p>'I'm … glad you like it.' Draco's compliments on his cooking made him feel very warm, in his chest. It just made him want to keep doing it—keep cooking and cooking and cooking. </p><p>'What should we do today?' Draco swiped a ripped-off chunk of naan over the plate, to soak up some juices, and took a big bite. </p><p>'Oh, ah …' He hadn't given it much thought. But then he remembered Moira's list. 'Hang on, Moira gave us a list.' he moved to get up out the chair. </p><p>Draco caught his eye, raising an eyebrow at him, which Harry met with a smile. </p><p>'Just a second.' He rushed back to his bedroom to collect the folded-up paper from yesterday's jean pocket, and brought it back over to Draco, laying out flat on the table between them. </p><p>Draco snatched it up, and read, muttering under his breath, ‘Light a favourite scented candle, meditate, take a long bath.’ He frowned, then shot Harry a pained look. 'Write a love letter to yourself?'  </p><p>Harry had to laugh. 'Yeah, okay, let's do that.' </p><p>'Sounds awful.' </p><p>'It's probably good for self-esteem or something.' </p><p>'My self-esteem is fine.' </p><p>'Then it doesn't hurt.' Harry just liked how <i>that'd</i> been the one Draco had emphasised, and it amused him how much the simple idea put Draco off. How bad could it possibly be, really? Could be good for a laugh, if anything. He scooped up the last forkful of food on his plate and shoved it in his mouth. Then he pushed his chair back, grabbed both their empty plates and brought them to the sink. 'Where's your parchment paper?' </p><p>'Harry … you can't be serious.' </p><p>'Ah, come on.' </p><p>Draco sighed. 'All right. I'll get it.' </p><p>Well that was easy enough. </p><p>Draco pushed back at his chair, and walked off to collect the paper. In the meantime, Harry set the dishes to self-clean. </p><p>Draco returned with quills, ink, and parchment paper, and set them heavily onto the tabletop. 'Happy?' </p><p>'Yes,' Harry said, through a laugh, moving to sit back down at the table, and sliding one of the blank parchments towards himself.  </p><p>'Isn't it too early for this?'  </p><p>'For what? Writing a simple note that no one will ever see? Why not?' </p><p>Draco stared at him, with a pinched mouth that made his lips look tiny.  </p><p>Harry's face broke out in a smile. </p><p>Exhaling hard out of his nose, Draco finally relented, 'All right.' He grabbed his own piece of parchment, a quill, and stared down at the paper with a frown. </p><p>Beside him, Harry grabbed his own quill, a pot of ink, and considered his page. A love letter to himself? Bit silly, but sure. He unscrewed the cap of the inkpot, and dipped his quill. </p><p><b>My dear Harry,</b> </p><p>He chuckled to himself, and continued, thinking about what he’d say to himself, imagining he were somebody else writing him a love letter. </p><p><b>You're a decent-enough looking bloke.</b> </p><p>His smile fell slightly. That wasn't something he'd ever write in a love letter to someone else, he'd say something better than "decent". Harry needed to try harder. He thought of his appearance, what he actually liked about it. </p><p><b>You look so much like your father, and you have your mother's eyes.</b> </p><p>He was regurgitating the words he'd heard so many times. But … even now, they were a comfort to him. He <i>liked</i> those characteristics. Because … </p><p>
  <b>It's like they're with <strike>me</strike> you, and they're not really gone, when I look at you. You had a family, people who loved you unconditionally. And that’s permanent. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You have a great family now, too … maybe not by blood but that doesn't really matter. You have Hermione, and Ron, and all the Weasleys. Hagrid. You are well-loved. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You have strong hands, strong arms, good balance. Helps you to fly well, and there's nothing like flying. </b>
</p><p><b>You always <span class="u">try</span> to do the right thing, the thing that helps people, even though you were raised in such an environment that could've made you mean. You chose to be better than that, and that's not easy.</b> </p><p>He winced. Okay, this was harder than he thought. He glanced over at Draco, and saw him write a word, pause, then write another. 'How are you doing?' </p><p>Draco glanced up at him. 'This is stupid.' </p><p>Harry laughed. 'Yeah, it's harder than I thought.' </p><p>‘Mm.’ Draco wrote in another word. </p><p>Harry looked back at his own page, and continued. </p><p>
  <b>You have a good heart. You give your all to those you care about. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>And the past year (<span class="u">years</span> if we're honest, but this past one was particularly hard) … the past year was difficult. It… showed you that you weren't as indestructible as you thought. And that's okay, because it taught you how to get up again. And now you know you <span class="u">can</span>. You’re just human, and sometimes you trip up. But you worked at it, and you grew, learning skills you didn't know you needed. </b>
</p><p><b>I'm proud of that.</b> </p><p>Harry sat back in his chair, and stared at the paper. A smile grew on his face—he was pretty proud of himself. He wasn't ashamed of the year he'd had, the anxiety, the crying, the crippling depression. He wasn't weak or broken.  </p><p><b>Love, Harry</b> </p><p>He signed the page, then folded it in three—like Harry would a letter. He glanced at Draco, and found him bent over the page, scribbling away.  </p><p>So he waited. And when Draco stopped, with a sigh, Harry asked, 'How'd it go?' </p><p>'Okay. Want to read it?' </p><p>Harry blinked. 'Er, yeah. If you're comfortable, sure.' </p><p>Draco nodded, and slid his over. </p><p>'Ah, want to read mine?' </p><p>'Okay.' </p><p>So, with their letters exchanged, Harry settled in to read. </p><p>
  <b>Draco, </b>
</p><p>
  <b>If your whole past was erased, you'd be lovable, wouldn't you? Brains, and fine looks. Money.  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>But your past did happen. You were complicit in evil deeds and that's not going away.  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You are <span class="u">haunted</span>... you've nearly been broken, shattered into pieces. You are guilty, ashamed, uncertain of who you are, and of who you can become. Now is not the time for romance. You have nothing to offer another person, because you are still sorting yourself out—trying to heal, trying to put yourself back together, trying to earn redemption. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You'll try to be a better person, better than you ever were, won't you? You won't hate people for simply being different from you. Nor try to fool others to believing you are something special, something more than you are.  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You are facing yourself in the mirror, as you truly are, for the first time. And you don't see what you thought you'd see. It's someone new. And that's okay. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>If you hold on to this desire to be a better person, then maybe you'll get there.  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>It isn't easy, when so much of this was instilled from birth. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>But you are trying. You <span class="u">are</span>. And that's a good start. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I will try to love you. Me. And in time, I may learn to forgive you. Me. </b>
</p><p><b>D.</b> </p><p>Harry inhaled a shaky breath. He wished he could … just wave his wand and make everything nicer for Draco. Easier. But that wouldn't be useful; it wouldn't be what he needed.  </p><p>Seemed like he just needed a friend. And that, Harry could do. </p><p>He especially noted the part about Draco not being ready for romance … If he’d been pretty sure he should rein in his feelings before, he was even more certain now.  </p><p>Draco made a little huff, and Harry couldn't tell if it was amusement or not. Draco placed Harry's letter down on the table and turned to him. 'Yours is nice.' </p><p>'It's supposed to be a love letter,' Harry said, with a shrug. He wasn't quite sure what to say about Draco's. He liked that it had an element of hopefulness, at least. It had good intent, and it seemed so honest. Raw. Painful. He opened his mouth to say something along those lines. </p><p>'I know mine isn't …,' Draco seemed to search for the right word, 'particularly conventional, as far as love letters go.' </p><p>Harry let out a breathy laugh. Yeah, that was certainly true. 'It feels hopeful though.'  </p><p>Draco nodded. 'That's something, at least.' </p><p>'I'm … well, just like I said in my letter about me,' Harry started tentatively. 'I'm proud of you, too.' </p><p>Draco lifted an eyebrow. </p><p>'You could've easily laid blame elsewhere, or decided to suffer in silence—burying your feelings. But you made a commitment to yourself, you sought help, and you're working hard. It's not easy. Not easy at all.' He tried to smile. 'I find it commendable.' </p><p>Draco inhaled deep, and, on the exhale, he smiled—albeit small and slight. 'Well, thank you, Harry.'  </p><p>Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. 'Ah, sorry this idea was a bust.' </p><p>'It wasn't,' Draco said, eyeing the parchment in front of Harry thoughtfully, while thumbing absently at the one in his own hands.  </p><p>'Oh, well, I'm glad, then.' Harry picked up the self-care paper from their Mind Healer, and gave it another once-over. 'Is there something on the list you'd actually like to do?' </p><p>Draco leaned over his shoulder to take another look. And Harry stilled at the proximity. He had to remind himself to breathe normally. 'Mm, take a walk in nature?' </p><p>'Yeah. Sounds good to me.' </p><p>'Let me get dressed, then.' </p><p>Harry’d need a jumper, too.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry and Draco found themselves strolling through Hyde Park. It was a bit busy, with families enjoying the rare autumn sunshine, plus joggers and bicyclists rushing past.<p>They ended up at a wooden bench near the water and settled down to watch the ripples in the slight breeze. </p><p>A big white swan drifted past them at leisurely pace. It seemed altogether relaxed.  </p><p>‘Did you know that the Muggle Queen owns the swans in the UK?’ Harry mused. He’d read that somewhere. Or maybe Hermione had told him. </p><p>Draco snorted. ‘Yes, because people kept eating them.’ </p><p>Harry grimaced. ‘Really?’ </p><p>‘Afraid so.’ He rubbed at a spot on his leg. ‘They are beautiful,’ Draco said softly, watching the bird as well. ‘The Monarch also owns every whale and dolphin within three miles of the coast.’ </p><p>‘Really?’ </p><p>‘Mm. And swans mate for life, did you know?’ </p><p>Harry shook his head. </p><p>‘People love to mention things like that. Why, I wonder?’ </p><p>Harry shrugged. ‘It’s romantic?’ </p><p>Draco hummed. ‘Yes. The idea that even in nature, true love and eternal devotion exists. Perhaps it means that there’s hope for us humans, too.’ </p><p>Harry turned to him. ‘Don’t you think two people can love each other their whole lives? And be happy together?’ </p><p>Smiling wistfully, Draco did not turn his face away from the water. ‘I hope they can. Though I’ve never seen it.’ </p><p>Harry blinked rapidly. ‘Your parents …’ Or grandparents? Surely ... </p><p>‘An arrangement made by their parents. I do think they respect one another, but …’ Draco trailed off. He cleared his throat. ‘Well, soon enough the same will be expected of me …' </p><p>‘You don’t mean—’ </p><p>Draco nodded. </p><p>A pigeon waddled by near their feet, looking for crumbs. Harry stared at it, without really registering it.  </p><p>‘I’ll be expected to marry a woman of my parents’ choosing. Someone suitable.’ </p><p>‘A woman?’ Something dark churned in Harry’s chest. He didn’t like this … wanted to exclaim, “No!” But it wasn’t his place, as Draco’s friend. And this wasn’t the time. Instead, he took a deep breath, and asked, ‘Do they know you’re gay?’ </p><p>‘No, though I imagine they suspect, and do not care. And even if I told them, it wouldn’t change the outcome—it wouldn’t change their expectations of me. It would only serve to embarrass and anger my father to have it said out loud.’ </p><p>Harry exhaled slow.  </p><p>They sat in silence. Another two swans drifted past. ‘Swans can divorce, though it is rare.’ </p><p>‘Do they?’ Harry echoed, feeling far away from a simple conversation on swans.  </p><p>‘It does make me wonder … if I can marry as my parents intend, produce an heir. And then, perhaps, I can get a divorce, and finally get to live the kind of life I want ...’ </p><p>Harry frowned. ‘So using the poor woman, then.’ </p><p>‘I—’ Draco sat up straighter. ‘Well I don’t mean—’ </p><p>‘And the way you speak about heirs … God, it’s like you're from the royal family or something,’ he said bitterly.  </p><p>Draco sighed, slumping down against the bench. ‘Try to tell my father we aren’t …,' he muttered, rubbing his palms against his thighs.  </p><p>‘Sorry,’ Harry breathed out. This all seemed mad, but … it wasn’t Draco’s fault. This was his life, a life very different from Harry’s, that he didn’t really understand. ‘I know I don’t have any idea of what it’s like …' </p><p>Draco flashed him a tiny smile. ‘Yeah, well ...’ He turned to stare out at the water. ‘If I tell my parents that I want to marry a man … they will never speak to me again.’ </p><p>Harry sucked in a breath. </p><p>‘I’m not sure I …' Draco swallowed. ‘That’s a lot to … throw away. All at once.’ </p><p>He nodded. ‘So you think marrying a woman first …' He hated it. But it wasn’t his place to, he reminded himself. Again. </p><p>A quick shrug. ‘They only want a grandchild. An heir. After that … my duty to family is done. Accomplished.’ </p><p>Harry breathed out slow.  </p><p>And they watched the swans in a strange silence.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>After a while, Harry and Draco elected to walk back.<p>They exited Hyde Park, and navigated the Central London streets.  </p><p>Draco stopped on the sidewalk, and grabbed at Harry's arm.  </p><p>'Mm?' Harry mumbled, taking a look at where Draco's was facing—at a line of little colourful shops. </p><p>'Another item on the list, <i>Harry</i>, was to buy oneself some flowers.' </p><p>He laughed under his breath. 'Yeah, all right.' Harry wasn't sure flowers would really do anything for him, but he was up for it. </p><p>They passed by the heaps of fat bouquets displayed outside, and pushed through the door. It made a pleasant tinkling sound.  </p><p>It was small, and the whole place had been stuffed with plants from floor to ceiling—Neville would've loved it. From cactuses to stems of roses—in seemingly every colour. The scent of it all was earthy and fragrant and quite over-powering. </p><p>'Hello,' called a middle-aged woman from the back, wearing a dark green apron. She seemed to be sticking leafy ferns into a green cube of some sort. </p><p>‘Hello,’ Harry echoed, looking around, as Draco waved a little. </p><p>'What's your favourite colour?' Harry asked idly, passing his eyes over bushels of geraniums. </p><p>'Green. Like an …' he trailed off. </p><p>'What?' Harry turned to him, and found Draco had gone a little pink in the cheeks.  </p><p>'Nothing. A mid-green, I suppose. Not particularly light or dark.' </p><p>'Ah. I see. Well … not many flowers are green, are they? Their flower petals, I mean. But I guess you get it in all the stems and leaves.' </p><p>'Mmhmm. And yours?' </p><p>'Red. Gryffindor red.' </p><p>Draco laughed. 'Red for you, green for me. How absolutely boring. It's like we can't see past our house placement.' </p><p>Harry huffed his protest, but his heart wasn't in it. 'All right, fair. What's your second favourite then? And don't say silver.' </p><p>'Merlin, I don't know. Blue?' </p><p>'Mm. Very nice. I think mine's yellow.' He thought of sunshine, sunflowers, and … well, blond hair. Glimmering in the sunshine, like … at a Quidditch match. (Rein it in, Harry.) Yellow <i>was</i> nice, though. Cheerful. </p><p>'That's too close to gold, Potter.' </p><p>Ah, bollocks. Maybe Draco had a point, there. They were both ridiculous, weren't they? 'Whatever. Blue, then.' The sky on a nice day playing Quidditch. Sure.  </p><p>Draco smiled, and walked away down the aisle.  </p><p>'Can I help you gentlemen with anything?' the lady with the ferns asked, wiping her hands on her apron. </p><p>'Ah, thank you, no. We're just looking,' Draco said, coming to stand in front of a display of succulents.  </p><p>'Well let me know if you need anything.' </p><p>That was kind of her, Harry thought, coming to stand beside Draco. </p><p>'These are nice. We could even take them back to Hogwarts,' Draco said.  </p><p>Harry considered that. Yeah, they were just little things, in ceramic pots that would fit in the palm of your hand. 'Do they count as flowers?' he asked, not really caring about the answer. </p><p>'Sure they do.' </p><p>Harry licked at his lips. 'All right. Pick one.' </p><p>Draco picked one with long puffy leaves (<i>were</i> they called “leaves”?), green in the centre, red on the outside. The little card in front read “peperomia graveolens”. </p><p>‘Nice,’ Harry commented, letting his eye wander over them all. Shrugging, he chose a spiky green-leaved one, marked “faucaria felina.” </p><p>They paid the nice lady, and left the shop.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Well, it was time to go back to Hogwarts. They packed up their things at Draco’s flat, set the perishables in the fridge with stasis charms, then Floo-ed back to Hogwarts.<p>As they were exiting the stairs from the Headmistress’s office, Harry swung his rucksack over one shoulder, and bumped into Draco on purpose, lightly. ‘So. Will you knit me one of your blankets? It’s always freezing at my house.’ </p><p>Draco cast him a sidelong glance, and opened up his mouth to answer. </p><p>‘Harry!’ </p><p>Whatever Draco was going to say, it was lost, because Hermione and Ron were running down the corridor at them, with wild-wide eyes and mouths agape. Harry’d laugh if he wasn’t so concerned. </p><p>Had something happened? His heartrate sped up in a flash. </p><p>‘Where <i>were</i> you?’ Hermione asked breathlessly, catching up to them, and not taking her eyes off of Harry’s face. </p><p>He ignored her question. ‘What happened? Is everyone okay?’ He looked around them—the castle seemed whole, just as they’d left it. From what he could see, anyway. But looks can be deceiving …  </p><p>Hermione blinked at him, seemingly confused by the question. </p><p>Ron huffed. ‘<i>Harry</i>, you left the castle and didn’t tell us?’ </p><p>‘I … what? Where is this coming from?’ He registered a movement out of his peripheral, and realised it was Draco sneaking off. He watched Draco’s retreating back helplessly; watched it disappear around a bend in the halls. </p><p>‘You <i>left</i>,’ said Hermione, gripping onto his arm now. ‘We were worried! You never leave without telling us where you’re going!’ </p><p>‘Yeah, and then we see you walking with sodding Malfoy. What’s going on?’ Ron demanded. </p><p>He wasn’t sure how to answer any of that. ‘Draco’s my friend.’ </p><p>‘<i>Draco</i>?’ Ron repeated with a scrunched-up face.  </p><p>At the same time, Hermione asked, ‘Were you with him all weekend?’ </p><p>‘Yeah.’ Harry shrugged, searching their faces. He didn’t understand any of this. They never seemed to care what he was up to. </p><p>Hermione regarded him for a long moment. ‘Let’s go someplace to talk.’  </p><p>They found an empty classroom, and Hermione sat at a desk. When Harry and Ron kept standing, she shot them both a look, and gestured to the two desks across from her. Reluctantly, the two of them slid into the chairs. </p><p>Harry looked from one friend to the other, and back. Feeling rather baffled by this sudden intervention. ‘Truthfully, I actually didn’t think you’d notice I left, it didn’t occur to me to tell you.’ </p><p>‘You didn’t think we’d notice?’ Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows and leaning forward.  </p><p>He shrugged. ‘All you two do is couple stuff, I thought you were too busy snogging to notice.’ Maybe that was a bit harsh. </p><p>Hermione and Ron exchanged a look—one of those irritating “couple looks” that conveyed something he couldn’t decipher. They both deflated in their seats at once. </p><p>‘You’re right, Harry. We’ve … neglected you, haven’t we?’ Hermione said. </p><p>‘I’m not saying <i>that</i>,’ Harry argued. ‘I’ve just … I don’t know. You don’t need to change anything, and I’m glad to see you both so happy. And you deserve this easy time together, you know, after … the last several years.’ </p><p>Hermione managed a weak smile. </p><p>‘You’re fine … and Draco’s my friend now too, so …' He glanced at Ron, who still seemed scandalised by the prospect. Harry took a breath. ‘Okay. I’m sorry, it should’ve occurred to me to tell you both.’ </p><p>Hermione exhaled, smiling properly now. ‘We need to be better, too … we can’t just be—’ She cleared her throat. ‘—Snogging all the time.’ A blush coloured her cheeks.  </p><p>Ron clapped a hand on Harry’s back. ‘Yeah, we’ll make more of an effort. Can’t have you resorting to <i>Malfoy</i> for friendship.’ </p><p>Harry gritted his teeth. ‘He’s not—’ </p><p>‘<i>Ron</i>,’ interrupted Hermione. ‘We’d already agreed to, well, give him a chance.’ She looked at him pointedly. </p><p>Ron clamped his mouth shut, looking put off.  </p><p>Hermione sighed, and then smiled. ‘So, tell us about your weekend, Harry.’ </p><p>So, he did. Harry glossed over a few parts he didn’t think they had to know. Like, maybe he shouldn’t reveal that Draco saw Harry’s Mind Healer, it wasn’t really his place to reveal something so private and personal. So, Harry left that whole part out. He also didn’t know what they’d think about the tattooing, so that was off the list too. But he told them about Draco’s flat and dinner and watching Kung Fu.  </p><p>‘That sounds … really lovely, Harry,’ said Hermione. She seemed surprised. </p><p>‘I admit … I never would’ve pegged Malfoy for a knitter. It sounds like … sounds like an all right weekend.’ </p><p>Harry smiled at his friends, grateful for the effort he knew they were giving. </p><p>The three of them went down to the Great Hall for dinner, and settled into the benches at the Gryffindor table. Harry’s eyes immediately went to Hufflepuff, he couldn’t help it. Draco was there, sitting with Pansy on one side, and Charlotte on the other. Draco had been looking at him, Harry thought, because he saw him avert his eyes quickly—which was odd. Harry had better speak to him later and make sure everything was okay.  </p><p>‘So … how did this whole thing with Malfoy start, anyhow?’ Ron asked suddenly, when he realised where Harry was looking. </p><p>‘Oh this is <i>good</i>,’ interjected Ginny, from Ron’s other side. </p><p>Harry shot her a look. ‘It’s rude to eavesdrop.’ </p><p>She rolled her eyes, and smirked. ‘My brother asked you a question, Harry.’ </p><p>Harry took a bite out of his roll. Chewed it, and swallowed. He felt several sets of eyes on him. ‘We’ve … sort of communicated through a magically-linked diary.’ He shrugged. No big deal. ‘It was anonymous at first, that’s how we got to know each other better.’ </p><p>‘Harry!’ said Hermione. ‘And you’re just telling us this now! It could’ve been dangerous! It could <i>still</i> be dangerous!’ </p><p>He shrugged again. ‘It isn’t, though.’ And then he ate a piece of broccoli. </p><p>Hermione seemed scandalised.  </p><p>Ron, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows. ‘Well … that explains it, I guess.’ </p><p>Hermione looked at him to explain himself.  </p><p>Shrugging, Ron said, ‘That’s how they were able to get past all the history. When you don’t know who you’re talking to, you can, like, have a fresh start I s’pose.’ </p><p>Harry smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it, I think. He was a good friend. A good anonymous friend. Then … he wasn’t anonymous anymore … and we figured out how to keep it going.’ </p><p>Ron nodded thoughtfully. </p><p>‘I’d like to see the diary,’ Hermione said. </p><p>Harry laughed. ‘Not a chance. I love you, Hermione, but no. It’s not an evil diary, and I haven’t been cursed, I promise.’ </p><p>Hermione pursed her lips, watching him carefully. </p><p>‘It’s all right, I reckon. Harry knows what it’s like to be cursed. He says it’s safe? Then it’s safe,’ Ron said. </p><p>Harry shot him a grateful smile, and Hermione seemed to reluctantly accept, because she dropped it.  </p><p>‘It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’ asked Ginny, leaning forward and looking at each of their faces in turn. ‘Who wants to start a pool, betting on how long before they’re dating?’ </p><p>Harry spluttered with a mouth of mashed potatoes, Hermione was stunned silent, and Ron looked as if he’d seen a ghost.  </p><p>‘Pfft, you guys are no fun,’ Ginny said, returning to her meal. </p><p>Obviously Draco didn’t …  <i>like</i> Harry like that. He looked over at the Hufflepuff table again, and Draco was there, frowning down at his plate. Then before Harry could blink, Draco got up and left the Great Hall. Harry frowned at the man’s retreating back … something must’ve happened to upset him. </p><p>When Harry returned to his dorm room, he opened up the journal and penned a note.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Hey, sorry about earlier. I should’ve told Hermione and Ron where I was going, turns out they were worried. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me to mention it, but, yeah. So I’m sorry, that must’ve been awkward for you. </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">It’s all cleared up now though. I told them it was a good weekend (it was, right?). But I didn’t tell them about the Mind Healer stuff, or about the tattoos. It just didn’t seem like my place, I guess. Not without your permission first anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">So, is everything okay with you? It’s just you looked a bit down at dinner, and I wondered if maybe someone had hexed you again or something. You’d tell me if something like that happened, right? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">Well, I’m gonna work on Charms, but write me when you see this. I’ll keep the page open on my desk.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He did as he said he would—kept the journal open beside his Charms essay as he scribbled away. He kept glancing over, but Draco’s writing didn’t appear on the page.  </p><p>Harry leant back with a sigh, and stared at his succulent—which he’d set on his desk beside his inkwells. It gave him a pang to look at it, in his chest. </p><p>Sighing, Harry went back to his homework. </p><p>Eventually it got so late, and his essay was finished, so he closed the journal up, and went to bed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading ❤️</p><p>  <span class="small">(seems like everything I write has someone wearing someone's clothes, and Harry falling asleep during a movie)</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco hadn’t replied in the morning either. Maybe he didn’t check the journal anymore, since by now they were getting used to speaking in person. Just … it already felt like a long time since they’d talked. Even though it hadn’t yet been 24 hours. Still … </p><p>Harry showered and dressed, then went down to breakfast with Hermione and Ron.  </p><p>They entered the Great Hall, and Harry’s eyes automatically sought out Draco. He was there, yeah, at the Hufflepuff table chatting with Charlotte. She was frowning, shaking her head from side to side as Draco told her something. Harry had to bite back a sigh. He wanted to know what was going on, but marching right over there and demanding to know was probably not the gentlest way of trying to figure it out. </p><p>So, he settled into the Gryffindor table with his friends, and looked at Draco some more. </p><p>Ginny promptly inserted herself in between him and Ron. ‘Hey.’ </p><p>‘Hello,’ Harry answered distractedly. He watched as Draco glanced over, eyed him and Ginny and promptly looked away, all while frowning. His mouth moved, and Charlotte turned slightly, pausing only when Draco said something with force. </p><p>‘What’s up with him?’ Ginny asked, nodding her head towards the Hufflepuff table. </p><p>‘Hmm?’ Harry kept staring at Draco, silently daring him to look again, so he could communicate something with his body language. He didn’t know what exactly, just something that’d make Draco know to talk to him. </p><p>‘Your man,’ Ginny said, before taking a bite of bacon. </p><p>‘My man …’ Harry echoed. Then he turned to her, paying attention now. ‘He’s not my …' He felt himself start to blush and clamped his mouth shut. He was ridiculous, he couldn't even say it.  </p><p>Ignoring him, she asked, ‘Why the silent treatment?’  </p><p>He exhaled hard. ‘I’ve no idea.’ If Ginny noticed … that meant it wasn’t all in his head, right? </p><p>‘He just glared at me again,’ Ginny said casually, before taking another bite out of her bacon. </p><p>Harry’s gaze snapped back to Draco, but he was already looking away. </p><p>‘Is he jealous of me? Thinks we’re getting back together or something?’ </p><p>Harry blinked rapidly at that. ‘He couldn’t … could he? I mean, it’s not even possible. Aren’t you with Blaise? I’m sure he’d be aware of that, them being in the same dorm and all.’ </p><p>‘Nah, Blaise and me are done. Ancient history.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ he said. (Because, what else could he say?) </p><p>‘You’d better speak with him.’ </p><p>Harry nodded. ‘I want to. I will.’ </p><p>But, that was easier said than done, because it was becoming quite clear throughout the day that Draco was avoiding him. And was a very fast walker. He’d keep disappearing around corners with black robes fluttering behind himself. </p><p>And one of the issues here was that Harry would prefer to get Draco alone so they could speak privately, but Draco was always talking to somebody whenever Harry could even spot him. They didn’t have any classes together that day … so that meant just meals and the halls. </p><p>The day came to an end again, with no reply in the journal, and with Harry racking his memory to try to figure out what he’d done. He sat on his bed with the journal open in his lap. </p><p>Their weekend <i>had</i> been good, right? It hadn’t been his imagination? Or had Draco been faking it the whole time? Just … just waiting for it to be over and done with, so that he wouldn’t have to talk to Harry again. </p><p>Maybe Draco had realised he’d made a mistake. That they could never get along, they could never make a friendship work. They were too different.  </p><p>Maybe Harry should’ve been better after the Mind Healer visit. Draco had been upset about something, and Harry hadn’t even tried to ask him about it. He’d just gone along with things, watched a film and then fallen asleep <i>on</i> Draco, leaving the man alone with his thoughts. That was rather insensitive, wasn’t it? He should’ve made more of an effort, instead of insisting they eat all the time. And insisting they write stupid love letters to themselves. Or that whole part where Harry went off on Draco for intending to trick a woman into marrying him.  </p><p>Harry frowned.  </p><p>Or … or maybe Draco had figured out Harry’s attraction to him, and it probably made him uncomfortable because he fancied someone in Ravenclaw (probably Terry Boot) and it was just awkward having a new friend fawning over you and trying to hold your hand when you don't like them that way. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Harry needed to know the truth. </p><p>He stared down at the journal for a beat, and then, picked up a quill.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> You’re mad at me, right? I’m not just imagining it? Or you’re just, like, <span class="u">done</span> with me? </span></p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred">I’d prefer it if you just said the truth. Like, if you don’t want to be friends, and if you realise you’d made a horrible mistake inviting me over, just... tell me. Please.  </span>
</p><p><span class="font-brickred">It’s better to know.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry groaned into his hands. Did that sound pathetic? Did he sound like a lovesick fool—tangled in an unrequited situation of his own design? </p><p>Inexplicably, he wondered what the old Draco would say to a message like that. He could see it—could picture Draco’s scowl as he spat, ‘You’re pathetic. Stop obsessing about me, Potter. I’m not interested in you, and it’s frankly hilarious you think I could ever be.’ </p><p>He brought his knees to his chest, and rested his forehead against them. His Draco was not the old Draco, he reminded himself. The war had changed him, or ... or allowed the real him to come out. The old Draco was largely who he was because of his father’s influence, and <i>his</i> Draco … the Draco whom the old one <i>chose</i> to become, was kinder … He knitted wonky blankets, watched cheesy films, and collected second-hand items to decorate his flat. Harry’s Draco helped him through an anxiety attack and invited him to a mental health weekend.  </p><p>Harry took a deep breath: a slow one in, then a slow one out.  </p><p>He shut the journal closed, and then climbed under the covers. It was a while before he fell asleep.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>‘Muffliato.’<p>A hand very-rudely shook at Harry’s shoulder, so he grunted, ‘Go ‘way.’  </p><p>‘Harry.’ </p><p>He squinted an eye open, and he blearily adjusted to the darkness. It almost seemed like Draco Malfoy was sitting on the edge of his bed. But Harry was dreaming, most likely. He grumbled and turned over. </p><p>‘<i>Harry</i>.’ </p><p>Dream-Draco was annoying. ‘’M sleeping.’  </p><p>‘Okay. Yeah. Yeah … I shouldn’t’ve come.’ </p><p>‘Mm,’ Harry answered, snuggling deeper into his pillow. </p><p>‘I just read your note, and I wasn’t thinking.’ Dream-Draco laughed at himself. ‘It could’ve waited until at least sunrise, I suppose. You seemed upset though … and I felt awful …' Dream-Draco trailed off. It all sounded rather relevant to waking life. </p><p>A little too relevant.  </p><p>Harry peeked again. And, yeah, Draco Malfoy did appear to be sitting on his bed. And Harry’s bed, of course, was in Gryffindor Tower. A place that Draco was not able to get into, on account of the password. ‘You’re not here,’ Harry pointed out helpfully. </p><p>Draco blinked down at him. ‘Well, I <i>am</i>, but I suppose I’ll be going shortly.’ </p><p>Harry reached out and touched Draco’s arm through some kind of dark and fuzzy dressing robe. It felt like a real arm underneath the fabric. ‘Hmm.’ He began to blink a little faster. Was it possible that Draco was really on his bed? </p><p>He reached over to the nightstand to pick up his glasses, and put them on. Dream-Draco's image became sharper.  </p><p>Draco had watched all this with lips pressed tightly together.  </p><p>‘Er … you’re here?’ Comprehension was dawning. </p><p>Draco made an amused huff. ‘Yes.’ </p><p>Harry scrambled to sit up. It was as if a meadow of flowers had blossomed in his chest—as incredibly cheesy as that probably sounded. He just felt … warm, at the same time as his heartrate sped up rapidly with uncertainty, all along with a healthy dose of feeling a possible impending doom approaching—knowing that Draco might at any moment break his heart, rather than explain it’d all been a big misunderstanding. </p><p>So, it was complicated. </p><p>‘Um,’ Harry said. ‘Start at the beginning?’ </p><p>Draco smiled at him, and Harry stared at it—at the curve of his mouth. Admittedly he wasn’t thinking very clearly.  </p><p>‘I couldn’t sleep, and I found myself opening up the journal, re-reading some parts,’ Draco said. </p><p>Re-reading? </p><p>‘And then I saw the bit at the end, the part you’d just added, I’m guessing?’ </p><p>Harry realised Draco was waiting for an answer, so he nodded. </p><p>Draco’s eyes dropped to the blanket, and he ran his hand over the fabric. ‘All right, so, I thought …’ He exhaled. ‘I thought you had your real friends back again so you didn’t need me anymore.’ </p><p>‘What?’ Harry asked, even though he’d heard him. </p><p>Draco shrugged his shoulders—just once, and kept looking down at his hand on the blanket. ‘They weren’t talking to you much this year, right? Ignoring you? But now you’ve gotten their attention again, and you seem quite happy about that—it looked so normal. It just makes sense that everything would go back to the way it used to be.’ </p><p>‘No,’ Harry said. Draco looked up at him then, with a carefully neutral expression. ‘It doesn’t work that way … I don’t need, like, maximum two best friends.’ He wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to. </p><p>Draco nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, it does seem kind of stupid now that I’m hearing myself out loud.’ </p><p>Harry laughed under his breath. ‘I thought you hated me again.’ </p><p>Draco pinched his mouth small, and subtly shook his head.  </p><p>‘So … so everything’s good with us, then?’ </p><p>A small smile grew on Draco’s face. ‘Yeah. We’re good.’ He licked at his bottom lip. ‘And I’m sorry. That was immature of me, I shouldn’t have just avoided you.’ </p><p>‘Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s okay.’  </p><p>They looked at each other.  </p><p>‘Um, how’d you get in here?’ Harry asked. </p><p>A mischievous smirk grew on Draco’s face. ‘Blaise knew the password.’ </p><p>Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘Ginny,’ he said, under his breath. </p><p>Draco’s smirk faltered a bit. </p><p>‘I don’t like her again or anything,’ Harry blurted out. </p><p>Draco didn’t show any reaction, apart from saying, ‘Okay.’  </p><p>Harry felt stupid having said that. Obviously it wasn’t important. He was just tired. </p><p>‘I should go,’ Draco said. </p><p>‘Okay, yeah, it’s late, huh?’ </p><p>‘About 3:00 or so,’ Draco helpfully supplied, smiling slightly.  </p><p>‘Okay,’ Harry said again. ‘See you later?’ </p><p>‘See you later today,’ Draco said with a smile. He stood up, and the mattress lost its dip from his weight. ‘Goodnight, Harry.’ </p><p>‘Goodnight,’ Harry echoed. Wishing he could say more, wishing he could say something, but not knowing what. </p><p>Draco smiled once more, then retreated into the darkness, lifting the Muffliato on the room as he went.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry peeked at the journal when he woke up again. Underneath his note was a:<p> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> <span class="u">NO.</span></span>
</p><p> </p><p>He smiled, and shut it, tucking it underneath his pillow.</p><p>Harry walked down to breakfast with Hermione and Ron. Once in the Great Hall, he diverted paths, saying, ‘I’ll see you guys in Potions.’ </p><p>Harry felt his friends' eyes on him as he approached the Hufflepuff table. Draco was there, with his head supported by a fist, while the other hand pushed scrambled eggs around his plate. Harry slipped in across from him, in between Charlotte and Pansy’s girlfriend Becca.  </p><p>Pansy, from beside Draco, said, ‘Good morning, Harry.’ She wore a knowing smirk on her green-lipsticked mouth. </p><p>Draco looked up, his eyes wide and tired, but still glittery in the light.  </p><p>‘Morning,’ Harry said back, directed to all of them, as he smiled a little. He’d been a bit presumptuous to sit there, probably. </p><p>Draco blinked softly at him, with slightly parted lips—still not fully awake, Harry guessed. </p><p>‘I <i>told</i> Draco he was being stupid,’ said Charlotte brightly. ‘Harry’s not the type to drop friends suddenly for no good reason at all.’ </p><p>Pansy laughed. Draco’s soft expression had changed in a flash—into something infinitely more scandalised, paired with a warning glare. </p><p>‘Charlotte,’ he said. </p><p>She just beamed back at him. </p><p>Harry laughed under his breath. ‘Thank you Charlotte, you were absolutely correct.’ </p><p>Draco’s warning glare transferred to Harry—like a “don’t encourage her”. </p><p>Harry just smiled back.  </p><p>‘So how was your weekend, Harry? I heard you fell asleep on Draco,’ Pansy said sweetly. </p><p>Harry felt a blush rising. ‘Er … well, sometimes films—' </p><p>‘<i>Pansy</i>,’ Draco hissed, his cheeks looked a bit pink. He turned to Harry, and said, seriously, ‘Harry, I like you, but you should never have come here.’ </p><p>Okay, he was probably properly blushing, then. He caught Pansy’s eye, and she was grinning at him. Well, might as well join in on the fun. ‘Oh you <i>like</i> me, do you? I didn’t know.’ </p><p>Draco stared at him. ‘Salazar, you lot are the worst.’ </p><p>Harry just laughed, then started to serve himself up some poached eggs and bacon.  </p><p>They were back on track, then. It felt … rather nice.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>‘Meet me in the library after first period,’ Draco said, with a hand on Harry’s arm.<p>They were at the hallway where they’d have to go their separate ways—Harry to Charms, Draco to Arithmancy.  </p><p>Harry was rather distracted by the sudden touch, enough so that the words took their time sinking in. ‘Er, oh. Okay.’ </p><p>Draco’s hand gave a subtle squeeze. ‘Bring your journal.’ </p><p>Harry’s gaze snapped to Draco. Draco looked … pleased with himself. His eyes practically sparkled. ‘All right,’ Harry finally said, unsure of where this was going. Curious, though. </p><p>So, during their free period, Harry did as he was asked. The library had a stillness to it, with mid-morning light streaming in through the stained-glass windows—dust motes dancing in their paths. Most people were in class, and the few people with free periods themselves were spread out with noses in their own work. </p><p>It was easy to spot Draco in the corner—it always was. That hair. He practically glowed in the dusty light streaming in from the high windows, as he flicked through a thick book. Harry approached, and wordlessly sank into the seat across from him. Draco looked up and smiled. </p><p>Ah. He still wasn’t used to it. That smile, directed at him. </p><p>‘Hello,’ Harry said. </p><p>Draco nodded. ‘Did you bring it?’ </p><p>‘Of course.’ Harry fumbled around in his bag, and brought his journal out, placing on the table.  </p><p>Draco took it and moved it off to the side, keeping the big tome he’d been reading in front of himself.  </p><p>‘What are you planning?’ Harry asked curiously. ‘And what’s that you’re reading?’ </p><p>Draco was pleased with the opportunity to explain himself. His whole face lit up—like he’d discovered something brilliant and he knew it. It was his time to show off. Draco held up the big book so Harry could read the spine.  </p><p>Furrowing his brow, Harry read aloud, ‘Enchantments for Lovers volume three?’ </p><p>He lowered the book to the table. ‘<i>Yes</i>, Harry. We can make our journals chime when it receives a message. That way we won’t miss anything important.’ Draco’s expression was quite serious and neutral, but, unless it was Harry’s imagination, his neck did seem a bit pink. </p><p>‘Enchantments for Lovers?’ Harry repeated. His heartrate had picked up. Was Draco telling him something? It seemed like Draco was telling him something—  </p><p>Draco pursed his lips. ‘This book contains all manner of spells for communicating remotely. <i>Yes</i>, granted, generally the spells I researched were intended for lovers to communicate across distances. And, <i>yes</i>, often these spells were used to connect wedding rings or to enchant a mirror so that you could gaze upon your lover’s face, and such things.’ He exhaled. ‘But—just as well—a spell can be used for two friends to make their journals chime when they receive a new message.’ </p><p>Friends. Of course. Harry released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Draco’s response filled his head like words circling round a drain. When they sunk in, he gave a little shake to his head, and swallowed. ‘Ah. Like a mobile phone.’ </p><p>Draco frowned, evidently disappointed in Harry’s lack of praise and amazement. ‘Like a what?’ </p><p>Harry blinked. ‘Oh. You haven’t heard of them?’ Draco’s mouth pinched. ‘Muggles use them to communicate. You can call each other, sort of like a Floo-call, or you can text—which … hmm, I suppose is like what we do with our journals. Except mobiles are a little more portable, and they don’t run out pages.’ </p><p>Draco frowned again. ‘I see.’ </p><p>‘Oh, ah, I’m sure your plan is quite brilliant.’ </p><p>Draco just narrowed his eyes.  </p><p>Harry flashed Draco a smile, that he hoped was encouraging and would smooth everything over. </p><p>It seemed to work. Draco’s face softened, and he exhaled. ‘Well … I was always curious as to why the Muggles held those little rectangular things to their ears. That is what those are, yeah? Mobiles?’ </p><p>Harry nodded, still smiling. </p><p>‘Ah. Fair.’ He cleared his throat and straightened. ‘Do you want your journal to chime, then?’ </p><p>‘Yes, please.’ </p><p>The corner of Draco’s mouth turned up a bit. ‘All right.’ He turned his gaze to the two journals in front of himself and produced his wand from a pocket. </p><p>Harry leaned forward so that he could see whatever Draco was about to do. </p><p>He recited a long stretch of Latin as he wove a pattern in the air—resembling the infinite symbol drawn over and over. </p><p>Soon, a shimmering, golden pair of bells materialised above each journal. </p><p>‘Integrum,’ Draco finished, with one final wave of his wand. </p><p>The bells sank into the journals, and disappeared. </p><p>Draco calmly lay his wand down on the table, and shut his big spellbook.  </p><p>‘Why all this trouble to make our journals alert us?’ Harry asked. It certainly seemed like Draco had done a lot of research. ‘Just curious.’ </p><p>Draco bit at his bottom lip, staring down at the journals. ‘Well, if I’d got your message earlier … when we returned …' </p><p>‘Ah. You might not’ve needed to break into my dormitory.’ Harry smiled. </p><p>Draco glanced up. ‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We should test it.’ He slid Harry’s back over to him. </p><p>‘Right, okay.’ Harry opened his journal to the latest part. He ignored the part with his melancholy words, and Draco’s emphatic <i>NO</i>, and wrote:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Hi</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Draco’s journal immediately chimed. It was soft and pretty, like wind chimes swaying on a sunny cottage balcony. Draco smiled, and opened up to the latest page.  </p><p>He glanced at Harry. ‘It’ll only chime if you close it.’ </p><p>‘Ah, right.’  </p><p>So Harry closed it, and Draco penned a note.  </p><p>An identical chime rang. Harry opened up the journal again.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Hi</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
‘It works,’ Draco said, sounding pleased, as he smoothed his hand over the page.  </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Harry said softly, staring down at the “hi”. This was … nice.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry was just falling into that hazy space between wakefulness and sleep, when a chime rang from underneath his pillow. It woke him all-the-way-up, and his heartrate increased—but in a good way. In a happy surprise sort of way, because it meant <i>Draco</i>. He sat up, pulled the journal from underneath his pillow, and opened it up.<p> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue"> Are you awake? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry bit at a smile, as he reached past his bed curtain and fumbled around his nightstand for a quill. His fingers brushed against feather—he found it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> Yeah. Can’t sleep? </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue"> No. You? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Nope. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
It was definitely a lie, but … if Harry had said yes, Draco might’ve insisted on letting him sleep. And Harry would rather lose a little sleep if it meant getting to talk to Draco.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> What are you going to make us for dinner on our next mental health weekend? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry’s breath hitched. So there could be a next time, then. He felt … he felt warm all over at the very thought.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I don’t know. I picked the menu last time, do you want to choose? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> No, but make another of your Indian dishes. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Liked that, did you? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I distinctly remember telling you I did. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry let out a soft laugh.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> All right, then. I’ll get to planning something. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> See that you do. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<i>Bossy.</i><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Think you can handle some spice next time? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I’ll try.<br/>
I’ve a feeling I’m going to need to build up a tolerance so that I can get the full, authentic experience of Harry Potter’s delicious cooking. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He let out another laugh. Merlin, what should he make? Maybe a biryani?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> That is true </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He licked his lips. And scribbled a question he’d wanted to ask for a while.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> So why do you like Kung Fu so much? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
A pause.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Ah. Well... there’s a clear good guy and a clear bad guy, isn’t there? And the good guy always wins. It’s... simple. Therapeutic, perhaps. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry thought about that. It sounded reasonable, but, didn’t explain why <i>Draco</i> specifically liked them.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> And the rom-coms? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Similar thing, isn’t it? The good guy wins. They get the girl, or the guy. They’re simple plots, reliable. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> You like happy endings </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Of course. Don’t you? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Haven’t really thought about it much, but, yeah. Suppose so.<br/>
Ah... so why is it important to you that the good guys win? </span> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
Another pause.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Because I lived in the same house as the bad guy, I suppose. The worst guy.<br/>
Goodness needs to win... It just needs to.<br/>
Because we came dangerously close to the alternative.<br/>
And that is terrifying. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Right. That makes a lot of sense.<br/>
Sorry<br/>
Sorry to bring that all up </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> It’s fine.<br/>
Honestly. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Okay, good </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> So<br/>
Got any new guilty pleasure wank fantasies? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry made a loud choking sound. Nearby, Ron stirred.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Oh my God. I nearly woke Ron. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Made a noise, did you?<br/>
That inordinately pleases me, actually. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Merlin … he couldn’t possibly admit who all his fantasies featured lately, though.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Ah... can’t say I have any. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Oh? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Well... what about you? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry didn’t know where they were going with this, didn’t know where they <i>could</i> go. </p><p>He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. This conversation had abruptly taken a strange, awkward turn. Draco couldn’t very well say anything about Harry this time, now could he? Not now that they knew their identities. And Harry didn’t really want to hear about Draco’s fantasies about other people. He wasn’t <i>jealous</i> exactly … he just didn’t want to hear it, if he didn’t have to.   </p><p>Besides, Harry’d thought they were going to ignore all that past fantasy business—forget it ever happened.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> I’m sure you have <span class="u">something</span>, Harry. You’re just not telling me because it’s me. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
He exhaled. Yes. Draco had the whole of it.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Well, no matter.<br/>
Do you want to tell me a story? Like an adult bedtime story? To help me fall asleep?<br/>
You’re good at them.<br/>
You can say no. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> What kind of story? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
An “adult bedtime story”? Harry had a feeling he knew the answer to his question. Inexplicitly, he already felt the rush of desire. Of blood pumping. Just thinking about Draco … in his bed—over in Hufflepuff with yellow curtains drawn—possibly already hard and needing something to wank to so he could fall sleep.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> An erotic one, like before. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
This was … this was definitely new territory for their platonic friendship. His heartrate picked up pace. Well … he was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Yeah, okay. Sure.<br/>
Any requests? A theme? A place? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Before, you’d mentioned a bedroom scene next. Maybe write what you would’ve said then? Before you knew it was me on the other end. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Had he? He didn’t remember. Ah … okay. That's right. He took a deep breath. <i>Here goes</i> …<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> So we’re in your bedroom. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> After the shower. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry sucked in a breath. His pulse raced.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Right, after the shower. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> You’d sucked me off, but you hadn’t come yet. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Right, so we are currently wet from the shower, we’re fully naked now, and I’m painfully hard. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Exactly. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> So you turn off the shower, and we climb out.<br/>
We towel off, and you lead me by the hand to the bedroom. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I press my full length up against you, and say, “I want you to fuck me, Harry.” </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Oh fuck. Just imagining him— </p><p>Harry was definitely very, very hard. Well … time to dive right in, then.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I kiss you, and I push you backwards, towards the bed.<br/>
You fall onto it, naked and splayed out.<br/>
“Flip over,” I say.<br/>
You do, onto your stomach.<br/>
I climb onto the bed after you.<br/>
You’re waiting, your arse is there, ready for the taking.<br/>
I’m going to fuck you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry took a moment to reread what he wrote, a moment to take a breath. It all seemed a bit stilted and a bit awkward. He could do better.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> But first I spread your arse open slowly, with my thumbs, and I lean in to nuzzle the cleft with my face. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Oh! </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Okay? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Fuck yes </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-brickred"> I kiss you there, kiss your arsehole.<br/>
I lick </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yesss </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I lap at your arse, circling my tongue around your hole.<br/>
It’s so fucking arousing.<br/>
I suck lightly on the skin.<br/>
I press my tongue against your arsehole, and it gives. My tongue goes inside of you, tastes you.<br/>
I lean back for a moment to Accio some lube, and cover my fingers in it.<br/>
Then I’m pressing a finger to your hole, I’m breaching you, fucking you slowly with it while you lie down and take it. I lay my head on your arse cheek to watch my finger move in and out.<br/>
I bite your arse cheek, just a bit.<br/>
Then a second finger. Stretching you open.<br/>
You’re moaning, wriggling, and you’re trying to make me fuck you harder with my fingers—you're lifting up your arse.<br/>
“Fuck me already,” you say. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes, fuck me already </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> So I pull out my fingers, and I coat my cock with lube.<br/>
Fuck, I’m so hard.<br/>
And I want you so bad. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Oh God, he was. He did. Harry freed his cock from his pyjama bottoms, and started pumping clumsily with his left hand.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I spread your legs apart, and I position my cock at your arsehole.<br/>
I apply pressure—I push.<br/>
You open up for me.<br/>
You let my cock in.<br/>
I push in, slowly.<br/>
I’m going inside of you.<br/>
We’re having sex, we’re fucking. Fuck, I’m inside of you.<br/>
I press all the way in. My cock is all the way in.<br/>
I give you a moment, to adjust. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Just fuck me </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Okay, I pull out, and then I push in. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Fuck me hard </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I slam in to you<br/>
I fuck you hard<br/>
I lean down and bite the back of your neck, thrusting into you </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry put his quill down for a moment, and switched hands. He wanked himself hard and fast, with mind full of Draco’s arse, his nakedness, his body underneath him. Fuck, this was … this was so good. But … </p><p>Fuck, he switched hands again to continue writing.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> I pull out.<br/>
You protest.<br/>
But I just want to flip you over.<br/>
I want to see your face, I want to see what my cock does to you.<br/>
Whether you bite your lip, whether you squeeze your eyes shut or if you look straight into mine.<br/>
I want to see if it seems like you like it.<br/>
And I want to kiss you as I enter you.<br/>
Feel your tongue against my tongue.<br/>
Taste you. Have you pant and moan into my mouth.<br/>
So, I do. I flip you.<br/>
I push into you again, and I lean down to kiss you.<br/>
To thrust into you as our tongues touch.<br/>
I’m so deep inside you, and you feel amazing. Perfect.<br/>
I’m going to come.<br/>
I want to come inside you, while I look at you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Yes, come inside me<br/>
Come for me </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Fuck<br/>
I do, I’m coming inside you </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry switched to his right hand again, and pumped fast. Stormy grey eyes, daring him to come, to come inside his arse. Draco’s arse.  </p><p>Draco’s mouth. That pink tongue. </p><p>
  <i>Feels so good. </i>
</p><p><i>His, only his. Just for right now, just for tonight.</i> </p><p>Harry’s toes curled. Pressure mounted. </p><p>And he came with a cry.  </p><p>He lay for a bit, feeling amazing, and waited for the come-down, waited for his breathing to even out. Then he picked up his quill again and asked:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> How was that? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Perfect.<br/>
Thank you for indulging me.<br/>
Really, thank you.<br/>
You’re really good at this. How did you get so good at it?<br/>
No, you don’t need to answer that.<br/>
Thank you, though. I needed something new, and I can never seem to sleep enough.<br/>
But now I’m relaxed and... I think I can sleep. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Well... I’m glad. And you’re welcome. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Good night, Harry. Thank you. </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Good night </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry shut the journal, feeling conflicted. He was satisfied, beyond satisfied. They’d … shared something there. A sexual experience. Sure, they’d had one before. But this time they <i>knew</i>, knew who they both were—and did that anyway. Did it mean anything? Or was it exactly as Draco said—he'd needed something, just something to wank to, to help him sleep. </p><p>But he’d chosen to continue their fantasy, when it could’ve been anything. They could’ve talked about anyone, pretended to be anyone. Whether it’s pretending to be celebrities, or playing out a delivery man fantasy, or whatever people normally fantasised about. The fact that they were still them in this story, meant <i>something</i>, surely? But … Harry wasn’t sure he should allow himself to hope. Maybe continuing the fantasy was just the easiest thing to think of in the moment.  </p><p>And they’re friends. He won’t assume they’re anything more than that. Maybe Slytherins or Purebloods or whatever do this kind of thing—they … “help each other out”. Loads of people have casual sex, come to think about it. And this was sort of like that, indirect casual sex.  </p><p>He exhaled hard. It was all … kind of confusing. </p><p>It took a while to fall asleep.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>That morning, as Harry entered the Great Hall, he spotted Draco sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Harry wondered if anything had changed between them, if it’d be awkward now, or … would Draco pretend like last night hadn’t happened?<p>Absently scratching at his chest, he walked over to Hufflepuff table, and sat across from Draco. He had Pansy and Charlotte on either side of himself. </p><p>‘Morning,’ he said. He meant it for everyone, but he was watching Draco. </p><p>Draco looked up from his plate with bright eyes. He looked at Harry—and for a moment it felt like they were both acknowledging what happened. That they were having a secret moment. </p><p>‘Morning, Harry,’ Draco said neutrally. </p><p>‘You look tired,’ Charlotte said. ‘Are you not sleeping well?’ </p><p>Draco’s gaze sharpened. Harry felt like he was being analysed.  </p><p>‘Ah, not too bad,’ Harry said to Charlotte, lying technically. ‘I’m fine.’ </p><p>‘Hmm,’ she mused. ‘Well warm milk always helps me sleep. If you need some, my friend Milly the house-elf can you get you some. She pops right in to your dormitory if you ask her too.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ Harry said. ‘That’s … very nice. But I’m okay, really.’ He flashed her a smile, and then busied himself with piling toast onto his plate. He glanced up, to see Draco still watching him. When their eyes met, the corner of Draco’s mouth twitched.  </p><p>The rest of their day played out normally. No mention of their explicit conversation. Nothing had changed, really. </p><p>And maybe that was best?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Later that night, a chime from underneath Harry's pillow woke him up.<p><i>Draco</i>, his sleepy mind supplied. </p><p><i>Draco</i>. He sat up in bed, feeling his pulse quicken already. Maybe they were going to do it again—essentially wank together, help each other get off. He was … definitely interested in the prospect. </p><p>He pulled out the journal, and opened it up, squinting blearily at the page, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Thanks to the sliver of moonlight coming in from the window, he was able to make out:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Are you sleeping? </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry had to smile. He reached for a quill and, unable to hold back a yawn at the mention of “sleeping”, penned a reply.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> No. What’s up? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Sorry<br/>
I’m sure I woke you<br/>
Never mind </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry frowned.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> No, it’s fine. Really. Is something wrong? </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> No<br/>
Well, it’s nothing<br/>
Just a dream </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Tell me </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I don’t know if it’s something you’d want me to describe<br/>
It involves </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
A pause. Harry waited with bated breath.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-midblue"> Voldemort </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> You can tell me, I can handle it </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Well, okay. </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue">Thank you. </span> </p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Last year, there was one particular evening, in the Manor<br/>
We were </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="font-midblue">Shit. </span>
</p><p><span class="font-midblue">On second thought, Harry, I don’t want to write it down</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry thought for a moment. And then he had an idea.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span class="font-brickred"> Want to meet me somewhere? You can tell me in person </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> I couldn’t ask you to do that<br/>
You must’ve been asleep<br/>
We can just talk tomorrow<br/>
I need to stop interrupting your sleep </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> I’m awake<br/>
And I’m not going to fall asleep easily<br/>
Especially if I’m thinking about something being wrong, something bothering you<br/>
So if you want to talk about it, honestly, I’m happy to </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Really? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Yes </span> </p><p><span class="font-midblue"> Ah okay. If you’re certain.<br/>
Then... Astronomy Tower? </span> </p><p><span class="font-brickred"> Sure, I’ll leave now</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Harry slipped out of bed, and toed on his brown slippers. He thought of fishing out his Invisibility Cloak for a moment, before remembering that he was 18, and was actually allowed to go where he liked now. Harry smiled wistfully for a moment—thinking of all the late-night adventures with Hermione and Ron, all huddled under the Cloak, going out in secret, trying to save the world.  </p><p>He padded out of the dorm room, as quietly as he could, and crept down the stairs. A low fire crackled in the common room hearth, but the rest of the room was silent. Empty. </p><p>By the time he got to the Astronomy Tower, Harry was rather cold. He was only dressed in an old, faded grey t-shirt, and blue, plaid pyjama bottoms. He’d neglected to bring his wand, so crossing his arms over his chest had to suffice.  </p><p>Draco was already there, with his back to Harry, leaning up against the railing. Looking out over at the grounds below. The moon was in waxing gibbous, high in the sky, casting the right side of Draco’s body in a soft light. He wore something dark, but the lower half of his legs were bare, save for some thick, woolly socks.  </p><p>That old timey night shirt, Harry thought fondly. He came up next to Draco. ‘Hi.’ </p><p>Draco turned quickly—he seemed anxious, troubled. ‘Harry.’ </p><p>Harry smiled, and Draco didn’t smile back—instead, he bit his lip and looked off towards the barely visible horizon—a line of dark trees underneath starry sky.  </p><p>It was colder up there, but Harry was determined to ignore it. ‘What was your dream about?’ he asked, leaning his side against the railing. </p><p>Draco didn’t answer right away. He stared off, long enough that Harry wondered if he’d heard him. ‘It might make you see me differently.’ </p><p>Harry held his arms tighter to his chest. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly. Whatever it was, Draco obviously wanted to talk about it. And they’d deal with it. Harry would deal with it. He seriously doubted Draco had anything truly horrible to reveal about himself. Harry knew Draco, knew all the bad things he’d done, or, he was pretty sure he did.  </p><p>‘During the war … one evening at the Manor, Voldemort threw a dinner party, of sorts.’ Draco spoke quietly, neutrally, but the trembling in his hands resting on the railing revealed his true feelings. ‘The guest of honour was Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor. And he killed her, murdered her, in front of all of us. But first she begged … she begged for her life. And no one did anything. We just watched. I just sat back and watched her pleading, watched her crying, and then I watched the life leave her. And afterwards ...’ Draco’s hands gripped the railing, tight enough to show the whites of his knuckles. ‘The snake ate her.’ </p><p>Harry … Harry did not want to know what that looked like.  </p><p>Draco turned to him. ‘I did nothing. I just watched.’ </p><p>Harry shut his eyes, took a breath, then opened them. ‘What could you do?’ he asked quietly. ‘Fight a whole room of Death Eaters, along with your parents, and Voldemort?’ He shook his head slowly. </p><p>Draco looked back out into the distance. Quietly, he said, ‘You wouldn’t have been able to just watch.’ </p><p>No. He probably wouldn’t’ve. Harry fights. He’s always fought. He’d have sacrificed himself, if need be. Just in the off chance he could make a difference, could save someone. </p><p>But he was different, wasn’t he? He’d lived a vastly different life. Not everyone was wired the way he was. </p><p>‘I don’t think it’s fair to you, to compare yourself to me,’ Harry started to say. Draco turned to him, with eyebrows raised and mouth twisted into a frown. Harry realised how his words could be misconstrued. ‘I don’t mean that because I’m so wonderful and gallant or something. I say it because … because I’ve had to survive my entire life. The first time someone tried to murder me, I was one.’ He smiled dryly. Draco didn’t smile back; instead, his frown deepened. ‘And then my aunt and uncle despised me. But I just had to survive it, survive growing up. I was punished for simply being myself, I had no friends, I was bullied a lot at my school,’ he admitted. Draco closed his eyes and exhaled slow. ‘Even at Hogwarts, I nearly died each year, for various reasons. Most involving Voldemort.’ Harry sighed. ‘My point is … I’ve had to fight. Always. And that’s wired me differently, I think.’ </p><p>Draco laid a hand on Harry’s forearm—still crossed over his chest. </p><p>Harry looked down at it, then up at Draco’s sombre face.  </p><p>Draco dropped his hand from Harry’s arm, and reached into his dressing robe pocket, pulling out his wand. He cast a warming charm on Harry—enveloping him in a sudden, safe warmth. Draco’s magic humming on his skin felt fuzzy, like a blanket. </p><p>‘Oh. Thank you,’ Harry said, blinking rapidly as his body relaxed. ‘So, yeah. I may’ve fought. And it probably wouldn’t have been the smartest move. So … so don’t compare yourself to me. I’m sure that most seventeen-year-olds wouldn’t be able to do anything in a room full of Death Eaters, a room with Voldemort in it.’ </p><p>‘Still—I’m angry,’ Draco said calmly. ‘I’m angry at myself, I’m so fucking angry at my parents—for putting me into that situation. How could they … how could they ever have thought siding with him was right?’ </p><p>Harry exhaled slow. ‘I don’t know.’ </p><p>‘I still feel as if I should’ve done something. I feel like I let Charity Burbage down. I feel … like I’m partly responsible.’ </p><p>But Draco would’ve died. And, perhaps selfishly, Harry was glad that Draco hadn’t done something overly-brave and foolish to endanger himself. Harry thought he understood Draco’s feelings though, as he’d certainly agonised over all the times he’d been unable to save someone—and in those moments he had <i>tried</i>, he’d acted, unless he was physically unable to.  </p><p>Harry exhaled slow. ‘What can you do about it now?’ he asked softly, and felt a lot like Moira asking it. </p><p>Frowning slightly, Draco didn’t say anything for a moment, as he stared straight out into the night. ‘I can learn from it, I s’pose.’ </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Harry said breathily. </p><p>‘Next time I see someone being hurt, or victimised, I’ll … I’ll do something.’ </p><p>‘That’s all we can do, right? Just learn from mistakes, make amends if possible, try to forgive ourselves, and try to do better next time.’ He exhaled slow. ‘But I sincerely, <i>sincerely</i>, hope you never have to go through anything even close to that, ever again.’ </p><p>‘Me too.’ </p><p>Harry bumped his side against Draco’s. </p><p>The edge of Draco’s mouth lifted up slightly. ‘Well … thank you for trying to make me feel better.’ He turned to face Harry straight on, and bit at his lip. ‘I do, I do feel better. I wish I could forget things like that, though, you see? I wish I didn’t have to keep re-living it.’ </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Harry said sadly. He wondered what a normal life would’ve been like—what it was like to grow up without so much violence and death. He took a deep a breath, and tried to smile. ‘Do you want to hug? I hear it’s a Hufflepuff thing.’ </p><p>Draco froze, staring at him. </p><p>‘Well … at least that what Pansy said,’ Harry said. Merlin, he’d made it awkward. ‘And Charlotte. I realise <i>we</i> don’t do that, but …' he trailed off.  </p><p>Draco huffed a little laugh, and a smile grew, tentatively. ‘Yeah, sure, let’s hug, then.’ </p><p>Harry’s heartrate sped up, which was not the best time to have it do so—right when Draco was entering into Harry’s space and wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders. </p><p>Harry uncrossed his arms, and hugged Draco around his middle. He was wearing that same fuzzy dressing robe from the night he’d snuck into Gryffindor Tower. So soft, and warm. (And Draco smelled good, still like something fresh and citrusy.) </p><p>Draco held him tight—ear-to-ear—and Harry could feel the rise and fall of Draco’s breaths. </p><p>If Draco felt Harry’s pounding heart, he didn’t comment. </p><p>They stood like that a while. For long enough that Harry thought it might never end—and found he felt pretty happy at the prospect. He eased into it, relaxed into it. His heart rate slowed down, close to a normal rate.  </p><p>Draco exhaled against him, and pulled back. He looked deep into Harry’s eyes. ‘Thank you.’ </p><p>Harry could only nod, feeling exceptionally warmed. </p><p>They walked back in together, and Harry asked, ‘Did you make those socks?’ </p><p>Draco glanced down, and they both stopped to admire his thick oatmeal-coloured socks, one seemingly longer than the other. ‘I did. Sock-knitting is my next focus.’ </p><p>‘They look great.’ </p><p>Draco glanced back up, and a smile grew slowly on his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me you want a blanket <i>and</i> a pair of socks.’ </p><p>‘If you’re offering.’ Harry grinned.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! </p><p>  <span class="small">(Nothing like platonic sexting between friends, eh? lol)</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No more red and blue text going forward, so you can turn your skins back on if applicable ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>October came to an end, and November was nearly half over when talk of another Hufflepuff party was on everyone’s minds. </p><p>‘Did you hear there’s another party at Hufflepuff this Friday night?’ Hermione asked them both, as they walked to lunch. </p><p>‘Mmhmm,’ Harry answered. Draco was going to be there, and Pansy. Dean. Seamus. Luna. All the same people, presumably.  </p><p>‘Is there going to be spin-the-bottle again?’ Ron asked dryly.  </p><p>Harry was grateful his best mate seemed to be on his side regarding that awful, childish game. He certainly was not interested in it, in the least. Would rather just have a few drinks and chat with people, like last time, <i>before</i> Seamus had announced the game. </p><p>‘Oh,’ Hermione said, and Harry could sense her blush without having to look. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’ </p><p>‘Excited for that?’ Ron asked, with an edge to his question. </p><p>‘No!’ Hermione protested. ‘I won’t even play if you don’t want me to!’ </p><p>Ron smiled, and threw an arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s talk about it later.’</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>In the end, Hermione and Ron decided to sit the party out altogether. Sure, they could’ve gone and decided to either play spin-the-bottle or whatever other party game might come up, or they could’ve decided to sit it out. But they opted for some alone time, which was well-deserved, Harry thought. They’d been making more of an effort to spend time with Harry and their other friends. Maybe over-compensating, to be honest. So they very-much deserved the time alone.<p>This Hufflepuff party was similar to the last, but probably even more comfortable. They’d all had weeks of inter-house unity, so it didn’t feel at all strange or awkward partying with the Slytherins anymore. </p><p>People milled about again, with soft pop music playing from the wireless, and plump cushions arranged around the floor for sitting. The warm, golden room still smelled of cinnamon. Harry really liked Hufflepuff—it had to be his second favourite house, he thought.  </p><p>Harry and Draco gravitated towards one another, with plastic cups of Firewhisky in hand.  </p><p>‘Moira says we can space out our sessions by two weeks now. She thinks I don’t need weekly anymore,’ Draco said with a soft smile, before bringing his cup up to his lips.  </p><p>‘That’s fantastic,’ Harry said breathily, feeling warmth spread in his chest (and it wasn’t the liquor). He was proud. <i>So</i> proud. ‘It’s going well, then?’  </p><p>Draco smiled, looking around the room. ‘Yeah.’ </p><p>‘I’m glad.’ Harry licked at his bottom lip, and had to stop himself from staring.  </p><p>‘Spin the bottle!’ </p><p><i>So soon</i>? </p><p>A pit dropped in Harry’s stomach. Just … just the last time had been hard enough. He didn’t want to— </p><p>‘Come on,’ Pansy said, swooping in to grab onto Draco’s arm, and shooting Harry a grin and a wink. </p><p>He couldn’t even bring himself to smile back, as he watched her take Draco away into the circle that was quickly forming on the floor. </p><p>‘C’mon Harry!’ Parvati beckoned to him with a broad smile, from her seat at the circle. </p><p>Draco, who’d just sat down cross-legged with his back to Harry, peered over his shoulder at him with a neutral expression. </p><p>‘Harry!’ Seamus called. ‘Come get the chance to snog my boyfriend again!’ </p><p>He grit his teeth, and found himself moving towards the circle, though he didn’t really want to. He couldn’t stop himself, though.  </p><p>Draco had left a space beside himself, so Harry sunk down there, crossing his legs, and set his cup down on the floor. He felt Draco’s eyes on him for a moment, but Harry didn’t look over. Instead, he looked at his own hands, clenched in his lap. </p><p>He could sit it out … it was certainly well-within his rights and wasn’t weird or anything. He peered around the whole room, but found that no one had opted out. Every single person at the party had sat in the circle. </p><p>A movement caught his eye—but it was only Draco’s pale hand rubbing at his own thigh. He had such lovely hands—pale and narrow and long. Like straight from a Leonardo Da Vinci drawing.  </p><p>Harry remembered holding Draco’s hand—after the therapy session, and during Draco’s tattoo.  </p><p>He exhaled slow. </p><p>‘I call “first”!’ said Parvati. </p><p>Harry raised his eyes then—watching her excitedly spin the bottle in the centre of the circle, then back away to see who it would land on. </p><p>It landed on Terry Boot.  </p><p>Harry pursed his lips, and resisted looking at Draco—to see if he’d react negatively to seeing Terry Boot kiss someone else. </p><p>The two of them stood to snog in the centre of the circle. A few people whistled. Harry looked at Parvati and Terry, and yeah—they were snogging. It wasn’t really very interesting, and, just like the last time they’d played, it seemed to go on for too long. </p><p>They finally broke away, and Terry, <i>grinning</i>, spun the bottle to find out who he’d get to kiss next. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. He just didn’t like him—he was allowed to not like him. He just seemed so smug, the way he smiled like that— </p><p>The bottle stopped, and Harry hazarded a quick glance at it. And what he saw made his blood freeze. </p><p><i>How</i>? </p><p>How had it landed on Draco … again? </p><p>Harry didn’t look at Draco. He didn’t want to see his reaction. He didn’t want to see him <i>happy</i> about it. Even though that was terribly selfish of him, wasn’t it? Sure, Harry wanted Draco to be happy. He just didn’t want to have to <i>see</i> it. Yes, that was awful of him.  </p><p>Maybe one day … eventually … he’d be able to warm up to the idea of it. </p><p>His focus flickered over to Terry instead, who was eying Draco like Christmas came early. </p><p>Harry wasn’t going to watch it again. </p><p>He couldn’t. </p><p>For a wild moment, he considered storming off and going back to Gryffindor. Like he’d done last time. </p><p>But that’d be too obvious. </p><p>And he didn’t want to be petulant. He wished he could be more mature about seeing Draco kiss Terry Boot. But he couldn’t. And wouldn’t. </p><p>So … he mumbled, ‘Gotta take a piss.’ And beelined towards the Hufflepuff bathroom. </p><p>Harry went straight into a toilet stall, locked the door, and leaned against the wall. He tried to school his breathing—it was too fast. From running off quickly, probably. And not because he was upset. </p><p>Okay. He was a little upset. </p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut. And tried not to think about the fact that Draco was currently putting his mouth on Terry Boot’s mouth out there. But that’s the problem with trying <i>not</i> to think of something—you end up thinking about it. </p><p>And doubly the problem was: he’d seen it before. So he knew what it looked like. He didn’t have to wonder. He knew exactly what Draco kissing Terry Boot looked like.  </p><p>And it looked fucking tender and sweet. </p><p>Merlin. Fuck. </p><p>The door to the bathroom creaked open, and Harry froze. And his breath caught. </p><p>Footsteps approached the stalls. </p><p>‘Harry?’  </p><p>Fuck. It was Draco, of all people. And he sounded hesitant. </p><p>Harry clamped his mouth shut. Maybe Draco would just leave him alone. </p><p>‘Harry. I know you’re in there.’ </p><p>He had nothing to say. He and Draco were just friends. He had no way of explaining to Draco the actual truth—it'd ruin their friendship. And they’d only really just started it. </p><p>He couldn’t lose what they had. He wanted to get to have mental health weekends at Draco’s flat. He wanted to watch Kung Fu films and drink red wine. He wanted to get to cook for Draco, and write back and forth in their diaries. </p><p>So, Harry would have to just … go with his original excuse. ‘I’m using the toilet.’ </p><p>'No, you’re not. I can see your feet.’ Draco’s voice was gentle. Patient.  </p><p>Harry was a fool. And felt miserable with it. </p><p>‘This is where I stand when I use the toilet.’ </p><p>Draco snorted. He was stood right outside Harry’s stall. ‘Can I come in?’ </p><p>‘No,’ Harry hurried to say. ‘I’m using the toilet.’ </p><p>Draco exhaled slowly. ‘No you aren’t. Are we really going to have to talk with a toilet stall door between us?’ </p><p>Harry stared at the opposite wall to the one he was leaning on. Someone had etched a daisy in the paint. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. I’m gonna finish using the toilet, and then I’ll go back out there.’ </p><p>‘Yeah? Well it’s seems to me like you’re upset about something.’ </p><p>‘I’m not upset.’ </p><p>‘Well …' he started patiently. ‘You ran off back there.’ </p><p>‘I had to piss.’ </p><p>‘Right. And it had nothing to do with Terry Boot, then?’ </p><p>Harry gritted his teeth at the name. ‘No,’ he answered, but it came out harsher than he’d intended. </p><p>‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re weird about him.’ </p><p>‘I’m not. Weird about him.’ Harry winced, he sounded like a petulant child. </p><p>‘Do you fancy him or something? Is that it?’ </p><p>‘Fuck no,’ he blurted out. The very idea …  </p><p>Draco said nothing in response, leaning his back against Harry’s stall door. Harry looked down, at the back of Draco’s shoes there, under the door. Like he was a member of the Queen’s Guard or something. ‘I’m going to stand here until you tell me what’s wrong,’ he said. Somehow he sounded firm and gentle at the same time. </p><p>Harry clamped his mouth shut, staring at the daisy on the stall wall. He had nothing to say. If Draco would just leave it alone, then it wouldn’t need to be a big deal. </p><p>The bathroom door creaked open again. He heard footsteps approach the urinals.  </p><p>‘Hello,’ said Draco, perfectly casually to the new person. </p><p>‘Uh, hi.’ Ah. It was Dean. </p><p>Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Dean piss. It was all-too-loud, and terribly awkward for everyone involved, probably. Maybe not for Draco, though. Since he seemed determined to stand in that spot forever. </p><p>The water turned on at the sink. Then it was off. </p><p>‘See you later,’ said Draco. Cool and collected. </p><p>This was ridiculous. </p><p>‘... Er, see you,’ answered Dean. </p><p>The door creaked again, signalling Dean’s exit. </p><p>Then it was just silence. </p><p>Merlin. </p><p>The air felt tense. </p><p>Harry squeezed his hands into fists. ‘It’s nothing, okay?’ </p><p>‘Didn’t seem like nothing.’ </p><p>Harry inhaled a shaky breath. He didn’t want to …  </p><p>‘<i>Harry</i>. We’re friends—’ </p><p>‘That’s exactly why I don’t want to …’ he started, and found he couldn’t finish. </p><p>Draco turned around. Harry could see the toes of his shoes pointing towards him. ‘Harry,’ Draco said again, lower now. Softer. ‘Is that why you won’t tell me? You think whatever it is would jeopardise our friendship? Well I’ve got news for you …' He huffed a laugh at himself. ‘I’ve wanted to be your friend for seven years. Now that I finally have you, I’m not giving you up easy.’ </p><p>Harry frowned.  </p><p>‘I promise. All right?’ </p><p>Fuck …  </p><p>Fine! </p><p>‘I didn’t want to see it again. That’s all.’ He was shaking. Merlin. He’d admitted it. And he was shaking now. Great. </p><p>There was a pause. Harry heard a small thud. Something against the stall door? Draco’s hand? His forehead? ‘See what?’ Draco asked, in barely more than a whisper. </p><p>Harry buried his face in his hands. ‘See you kiss him,’ he whispered back. </p><p>‘You didn’t want to see me kiss Terry Boot?’ Draco echoed back. It was impossible to get a read on his tone—on whatever Draco was feeling. </p><p>Harry dragged his hands down off his face, and cast his gaze to the bathroom ceiling. Fuck. He was already at least half way there. Draco was clever. If he didn’t know now … he’d know soon. ‘I don’t like the reminder,’ he said, so quietly. </p><p>Draco waited. Harry could feel him waiting, could feel the tension there. </p><p>‘I don’t like the reminder that you’d kiss other people, but not me.’ </p><p>There. He’d fucking said it. And it was a miserable truth. The worst truth. The <i>hardest</i> truth. Harry was an arsehole for evening thinking it. And now it was out there, right in the open. </p><p>Maybe it was best Draco knew though ... so he’d be a little considerate next time he wanted to snog someone in front of Harry. Like … warn him first or something. </p><p>‘Sorry,’ Harry added. ‘I’m sorry.’ Fuck … this wasn’t fair of Harry. Not at all. </p><p>‘Can you come out here?’ Draco sounded upset. ‘Please?’ </p><p>Fuck. When he said it like <i>that</i> … </p><p>But Harry didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to have to be vulnerable in front of him.  </p><p>He wanted to hide. </p><p>Why couldn’t Draco just let him hide? </p><p>‘Please?’ Draco asked again. </p><p>And it did something to Harry’s chest. He <i>ached</i>. </p><p>He unlocked it, and the door swung in towards him. Revealing Draco standing there. His eyes wide and bright, and his chest heaving like he was out of breath or something. </p><p>‘Harry …' Draco said, staring right into Harry’s eyes. ‘You’re the only person I want to kiss.’ </p><p>Harry blinked at Draco. Those words sank in very slowly. They didn’t seem to make sense. </p><p>Draco licked at his bottom lip, then bit at it. ‘I thought you knew how I felt about you … the things I wrote in the journal. That sodding fantasy scenario …'  </p><p>Harry blinked back at him some more. ‘It was just a fantasy. It didn’t mean anything. I talked about Pansy …' </p><p>‘Egh. Don’t remind me.’ Draco scrunched his nose up. Then his expression sobered. ‘But,’ he sighed, ‘that fantasy may be meaningless, for <i>you</i> … but … Salazar, mine means something to me. You’re the one … <i>Fuck</i>. Don’t you know you’re the one person …?' </p><p>Harry shook his head, wide-eyed. No, he didn’t know. ‘But you like a Ravenclaw …' </p><p>Draco huffed a humourless laugh. ‘That was your bloody assumption—over and over again. One that you wouldn’t give a rest to, no matter how much I told you to forget it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I was talking about <i>you</i>, Harry. That whole time. I only have feelings for <i>you</i>.’ </p><p>Harry kept blinking back at the man. God, he probably looked so clueless. But … ‘But you refused to kiss me.’ <i>I’ll take the shot</i>. </p><p>Draco worried his bottom lip some more, staring back at Harry’s face with a furrowed brow. ‘Because I <i>wanted</i> to kiss you. And not like that—not in front of everyone else. Not when it’s forced and doesn’t mean anything. If I were to kiss you … I’d want it to be because <i>you</i> wanted to. Not because of some stupid game.’ </p><p>Harry inhaled sharply. Was that really true? ‘You’d kiss me?’ </p><p>Draco huffed out a little laugh, this time the corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘<i>Yes</i>. But only if you want to.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ he answered breathily. </p><p>They regarded each other, with realisation dawning. Did they <i>both</i> seriously fancy each other? Did they <i>both</i> want to snog each other? </p><p>A small smile grew on Draco’s mouth. ‘I didn’t kiss him just now, and I didn’t spin. I drank two bubble-gum shots,’ he said, scrunching up his nose again. It was cute when he did that. ‘And then I went to find you.’ </p><p>‘You didn’t kiss?’ Harry echoed breathlessly. </p><p>Draco shook his head, smiling. </p><p>This was all a lot. To take in. God, his heart was hammering in his chest. But … it was the good sort, he supposed. </p><p>Harry licked his lips. ‘For the record … I … I really, really like you. And I’d want to kiss you.’ </p><p>Draco’s eyes dropped to Harry’s mouth, but a frown formed on his face. ‘I’d kiss you right now, if we weren’t in a bathroom.’ </p><p>‘So let’s …' He huffed a little laugh. ‘Go someplace else?’ </p><p>Draco’s eyes met Harry’s, and he smiled. ‘Okay, come with me,’ he said, taking Harry’s hand and leading him out of the bathroom stall, then out the bathroom altogether, and down a corridor and through another door.  </p><p>Harry looked around. It was Draco’s dorm room. Where Harry’s room was covered in red, this one was all in yellow. </p><p>Draco closed the door behind them, locked it, and turned to Harry, with bright eyes and slightly-parted lips. He still had one of Harry’s hands in his. He brought the other one up near Harry’s cheek, but he hesitated, and gave a little shake to his head. ‘No, not standing,’ he murmured. </p><p>He dragged Harry by the hand over to the bed at the far end, near the window, and sat them both down on the bed’s edge, before dropping Harry’s hand. Harry was amused by all this—and let Draco lead.  </p><p>The bed had one of Draco’s wonky knitted blankets on it—with pink and green stripes. Harry thumbed at it, smiling. He looked up to find Draco looking at him, with an unreadable expression. </p><p>‘I should say …’ Draco began, before pausing to lick at his bottom lip. ‘Well, no. I’ll ask … what exactly do you want? Out of this?’ </p><p>Harry blinked at him. ‘I mean, that depends on you too, but … I, uh, I’d want us to date.’ His heartrate sped up again. ‘Or, like, be boyfriends? Only if you want to, of course. But … but that’d be the ideal outcome for me, I suppose.’ </p><p>Draco nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah … that’s what I want too.’ </p><p>‘Oh, good,’ Harry breathed out.  </p><p>A smile grew on Draco’s lips. ‘Yeah, it’s good.’ He laughed breathily. ‘So … boyfriends?’ </p><p>Harry nodded, smiling in a way that probably looked real goofy. </p><p>Draco licked at his bottom lip again. ‘Is it too forced to just kiss you? Or should we go on a date first?’ </p><p>Harry laughed. God, he was happy. ‘I don’t think there are rules, here. We could kiss, yeah, but if you aren’t ready, that’s fine too.’ </p><p>Draco nodded, seeming to be thinking it over. </p><p>Harry looked around as he waited. Draco had a ball of maroon-coloured yarn on his nightstand, attached to knitting needles with a few inches of completed rows. ‘Oh! Is that gonna be my blanket?’ </p><p>Draco followed where Harry was looking, and nodded. ‘Do you like the colour?’ </p><p>‘Yeah, it’s brilliant,’ he said enthusiastically. Truthfully he’d probably say the same for any colour at this point. ‘So you don’t … knit with magic?’ He remembered the first time he saw Molly’s knitting needles working all on their own. He’d been so awed by it, at the time.  </p><p>Draco shook his head. ‘The whole purpose of knitting is to relax you ... it’s not going to relax you if you aren’t working the needles yourself. What’s the point if magic does it all for you? I guess you’d get the blanket or jumper you want or whatever … but you can usually buy them cheaper second-hand already complete. Yarn gets expensive.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ Harry said. He hadn’t considered all that. </p><p>Draco moved. He toed off his shoes and sat back on the bed, swinging his legs over to lay on top of it. ‘Lie down with me?’ he asked. </p><p>Harry nodded, kicking off his shoes, and making to sit himself beside Draco. </p><p>Draco lay himself down properly, with his head on the pillow. So Harry followed suit, not quite knowing where this was going—but interested nonetheless. They looked up at the yellow canopy above them. </p><p>‘I don’t want to be a bad boyfriend,’ Draco said. </p><p>Harry shrugged his shoulders, and let out a little laugh. ‘Me neither.’  </p><p>Draco reached for Harry’s hand next to his, and interlaced their fingers. They lay in silence for a bit. Harry could hardly believe it … Draco fancied <i>him</i>? They’re boyfriends now?  </p><p>‘Harry?’ </p><p>‘Yeah?’ </p><p>‘Look at me.’ </p><p>Harry dropped Draco’s hand, and turned over to face him, they were just inches away. God, Draco was pretty. Harry’s glasses pressed into his temple funny though, so he took them off, folding them up into his hand.  </p><p>‘I’m having trouble believing you truly want this,’ Draco murmured, raking his eyes over Harry’s face. ‘Just … just because you’re … you.’ </p><p>‘I’m me?’ Harry loved the silvery, shining grey of Draco’s eyes ... his soft-looking eyelashes ... the length of his nose. </p><p>‘Yeah. You know when you want something for so long? So long you’re convinced it’s impossible?’ Draco said with a slight smile, looking down at Harry’s lips.  </p><p>‘Oh, yeah,’ Harry murmured. ‘Well …’ He licked his lips. ‘There are ways I could show that I truly want this.’ </p><p>‘Oh?’ A smirk played upon his lips. </p><p>‘Mmhmm,’ he said. ‘Snogging, for example.’ </p><p>‘Snogging,’ Draco echoed, smiling like he couldn’t help it. He brought his hand up to Harry’s face, brushing the pad of his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, and lacing his fingers into the curls at Harry’s temple. ‘Fuck, you’re gorgeous.’ </p><p>Well, shit. <i>That</i> made him blush. ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘You are.’ </p><p>Draco smiled, and leaned in. He brushed his lips against Harry’s. So softly. There was a faint taste of bubble-gum, but more than that was the natural taste of Draco’s mouth, the breath-taking feel of soft lips against Harry’s own, and Draco’s warm breath puffing out onto Harry’s face.  </p><p>Flowers bloomed in Harry’s chest. His chest was fit to burst with them. </p><p>Harry kissed back, just softly, trailing his fingertips feather-light up Draco’s side. </p><p>The faintest sounds came from the slow movements of their lips, from their breaths, from the slight rustling of fabric.  </p><p>Draco shifted his angle—just so—and opened his mouth a fraction. A soft tongue poked out, just past his lips. Harry met it with his own, just brushing them together lightly. </p><p>He’d … he’d never had a kiss like this before. </p><p>Draco pulled back. ‘Yes,’ he said breathlessly. His eyes—looking deep into Harry’s—they looked like … like raw affection. </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Harry said, biting a smile. He agreed, to whatever they were talking about. </p><p>Draco let out a funny burst of a laugh, as if he didn’t expect to, before leaning in to kiss Harry again.  </p><p>And Harry wanted this. Always. </p><p>They lay in bed, talking in whispers and kissing sweetly until the early hours—until it became time for Harry to return to his own dorm.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>The next morning, Harry couldn't wait to see Draco again. He raced down to the Great Hall, pushed through the doors, and his eyes went straight to Draco's usual spot—but he wasn't there. Harry looked around properly, frowning, and saw that the Hall was mostly empty. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sat at the Gryffindor table, alongside a few younger-years, though.<p>Harry approached the table, and sat down beside Ron and across from Hermione and Ginny. 'Morning,' he said brightly. </p><p>'Good morning, Harry,' Hermione said slowly, looking him over with an arched eyebrow. </p><p>'What?' he asked.  </p><p>Ginny smacked her palm down on the table, rattling a basket of cinnamon buns, and very much startling Harry. 'It finally happened, didn't it?' </p><p>'Mm, wha' happen'd?' Ron said, though a mouthful of food, peering at Harry curiously. </p><p>'Fucking <i>Malfoy</i> happened, right?' Ginny asked, leaning forward with eyes sparkling. </p><p>Harry tried to pinch his mouth in a straight line, tried to come up with a mature, adult response. Instead, a ridiculous grin broke out on his face. 'How could you tell?' </p><p>'Pfft! You're practically fucking <i>glowing</i>.' </p><p>He laughed, still unable to wipe the goofy smile off his face. 'Am I?' </p><p>'Malfoy? And you?' Ron asked. </p><p>Harry turned to him. 'Er, yeah. We're, um, well, we decided to be boyfriends … as of last night.' </p><p>Ron just blinked at him, and started to shake his head slowly. Harry thought he might start to protest or chastise him, but Ron clapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Well, that’s great. We just want to see you happy, yeah?' </p><p>That was quite kind of him. Harry knew it couldn't be easy—after all these years—to accept Harry and Draco as a couple. 'Thanks, mate. Really.' </p><p>Hermione reached across the table, and grasped Harry's arm, smiling warmly. 'We'll always support you with whatever you want.' </p><p>'Thanks, Hermione.' This was all rather sweet—he hadn't expected their support to be so freely given. </p><p>'Enough of that,' Ginny interjected, waving her hand in a circle towards Hermione's hand on his. '<i>What happened</i>? Who asked who? Did you snog?' </p><p>Harry felt his face grow hot. 'Er … do you really want to know?' He looked at Hermione and Ron's faces.  </p><p>Ron shrugged and exchanged a glance with Hermione. 'I reckon you've had your fair eyeful of our relationship, so if you wanna talk about Malfoy, uh, we'll listen.' </p><p>Hermione nodded her agreement.  </p><p>Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Spill already.' </p><p>Harry laughed under his breath. 'Yeah, all right.' Then he recapped the spin-the-bottle, the bathroom confession, and then the amazing snogging in Draco's dorm room. He felt a bit floaty, just talking about it.  </p><p>'Cute,' Ginny said, smirking. </p><p>'That's very sweet, Harry,' said Hermione, smiling at him.  </p><p>'Mmhmm,' Ron agreed, pouring himself another glass of pumpkin juice. </p><p>Draco came into the Great Hall, then. Yawning beside Pansy; heading straight for the Hufflepuff table. He glanced over at Gryffindor's table, and caught Harry's eye—causing Harry's heart rate to pick up in an instant. He felt himself lift up a bit off the bench, but remembered he was in a conversation with his friends, and probably couldn't just march up to Draco and snog him in front of everyone anyway. They hadn't yet discussed how public they wanted to be, and he didn't want to be the one to ruin it if Draco wanted to keep themselves private for a while.  </p><p>A shy smile grew on Draco's mouth, and Harry returned it with a grin. Draco looked away, shaking his head, and biting his lip to keep from smiling bigger. He was really bloody adorable, Harry thought.  </p><p>'Aren't you planning to eat breakfast, Harry?' Hermione asked, smiling. She knew exactly what was going on, as usual. </p><p>'Oh, uh, yeah. Of course,' he answered, tearing his gaze away from Draco, who was climbing onto a bench. Harry surveyed the table in front of himself, and grabbed a couple slices of toast, and scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate.  </p><p>He kept glancing over at Draco, and Draco was doing the same. Every time they locked eyes, they smiled and looked away.  </p><p>Finally Harry’d had his fill of breakfast, and saw that Draco was done and making to stand up too. Draco said something to Pansy, prompting her sudden glance over to Harry. And when she realised Harry was looking back, she winked at him.  </p><p>Harry huffed a laugh, and stood up. In the back of his mind, he remembered his friends, and tossed them a distracted, 'I'll see you guys later.' </p><p>He and Draco crossed paths halfway to the Great Hall doors.  </p><p>'Hey,' Harry said, coming up next to Draco and matching his pace. </p><p>'Hey,' Draco echoed softly, tossing Harry a smile. 'Going my way?' </p><p>'Yeah!' Harry said, and maybe a touch too enthusiastically.  </p><p>They exited through the doors, rounded a corner, and stopped abruptly, turning towards each other. Harry'd been hoping for this, maybe they could snog again, since no one was around.  </p><p>Draco worried his bottom lip, and seemed to be staring at Harry's nose. 'So, ah. Are we still …?' </p><p>Harry couldn't help but smile, big. 'Boyfriends?' Merlin, it made his chest feel so warm saying that word. '<i>Yes</i>. I mean, unless you've changed your mind.' </p><p>Draco looked back at him with those silvery eyes, widened and seemingly a bit awed at the moment. 'Not a chance, Potter.' And he smirked—in a playful way—before taking a step closer. He leaned in carefully, and his lips pressed light against Harry's. </p><p>It made Harry's heart lurch as he kissed back. It was so gentle, he could probably melt right there and then.  </p><p>Draco pulled back, and it took him a beat longer to open his eyes slowly—which just made Harry want to kiss him again. 'How are you planning to spend your Saturday, Harry?' </p><p>'With you, I hope?' </p><p>Draco reached for Harry's hand. 'I was hoping the same thing.' </p><p>Harry leaned in and kissed him, once more.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Early December rolled around, and Harry and Draco had enjoyed a couple weeks of snogging and hand-holding and late-night chats in their journal—and it was complete bliss.<p>Draco invited Harry over to his flat for their first weekend away from Hogwarts as boyfriends. They could snog the entire weekend. And maybe even, well, more than that, if they were ready.  </p><p>But first, Draco and Harry had Saturday morning appointments with Moira. </p><p>It all passed by quickly, with Harry telling Moira the news. She seemed genuinely pleased for them, and let him prattle on about how happy he was (and how wonderful Draco was) for the whole session. </p><p>Afterwards, they paid their bills at the desk with Brenda. Draco was a bit quiet again, though not to nearly the same degree as their last therapy session.  </p><p>Draco went out the door first and led them down the empty, nondescript, and very grey hallway towards the lifts. He stopped without warning, turned, and enveloped Harry in his arms—burying his face in Harry’s neck, holding him tight. </p><p>Several seconds passed. </p><p>Should he be worried? Harry’s heartrate sped up. It seemed like something was very wrong,  </p><p>Harry realised he wasn’t hugging back. He lifted his arms to wrap gently around Draco’s back. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly. </p><p>Draco nodded, just a tiny bit, into Harry’s neck, and he held Harry tighter. </p><p>They stayed like that for a long moment. </p><p>‘Thank you,’ Draco murmured into his neck. </p><p>Harry blinked rapidly. ‘Yeah? For what?’ </p><p>He lifted his head up, looking Harry in the eye. He looked terribly raw; his eyes bright and near tears. ‘For everything.’ He managed a wobbly smile, and brought a palm up to Harry’s cheek ‘For being here with me, through all of this. I’m so bloody grateful for—you.’ His voice broke on “you”. Draco’s eyes seemed wet. </p><p>Harry sucked in his bottom lip to moisten it. And then he smiled. ‘I’m so grateful for you, too.’ He leaned in, and kissed Draco’s lips. Just lightly.  </p><p>Draco broke away with a sniff and a smile. He ran his hand over Harry’s chest, over his heart. </p><p>And on their way back to Draco’s home, this time they grabbed some takeaway Thai. </p><p>They had a routine, now. Draco went to shower, and Harry got the wine ready. Draco came out in a plain white t-shirt and grey joggers. He tossed Harry a matching pair, with a lazy contented smile on his face.  </p><p>Harry licked his lips and went to put them on in the bedroom. But he hooked his fingers around Draco’s wrist and leaned in to kiss him first. </p><p>Harry came out of the room to find Draco on the couch with the containers of takeaway arranged on the coffee table in front of himself, with the two glasses of red wine. He had one bare foot propped up on the table. Harry had to resist raking his eyes all over him.  </p><p>Instead, he slipped into the space beside Draco. </p><p>‘I love seeing you in my joggers,’ Draco said casually, reaching for the Pad Thai. </p><p>Harry let out a breathy laugh. ‘Yeah?’ He surveyed the table. </p><p>‘Mmhmm.’ </p><p>‘That’s interesting,’ Harry said, grabbing for a spring roll, ‘because I think you look really fit in yours.’ He bit off the end with a crunch, and eyed the Panang. He'd try that next. </p><p>‘Oh really?’ Draco asked, quirking one eyebrow, before putting a forkful of noodles in his mouth. </p><p>‘Yep.’ </p><p>Draco chewed and swallowed his mouthful. ‘We should save the flirting for after we eat. I know how you are with skipping meals.’ He smirked a little, and returned to his Pad Thai. </p><p>Harry huffed, but he had to agree. So they stuffed themselves, and drank their wine. </p><p>And afterwards, Harry crawled onto Draco’s lap to snog him senseless. </p><p>Harry had to get started early on dinner, though, so they couldn’t snog <i>all day</i>. The meat needed to marinate in the fridge for at least two hours.  </p><p>So, while Harry worked on grinding the spices together with mortar and pestle, Draco brought his knitting bag over to the kitchen table. </p><p>'I think this'll be finished in time for Christmas,' he said, taking out a maroon-coloured scarf-like strip from his bag. </p><p>Harry smiled. 'Yeah? So that's my Christmas gift?' </p><p>He'd have to get Draco something really nice … it'll take some thought to decide what. </p><p>'One of them, perhaps.' </p><p>'One?' He'd have to <i>really</i> put careful thought into Draco's, then. </p><p>'Mm.' Draco inserted a bare knitting needle into one of the stitches on the scarf-like strip. 'What do you normally do for Christmas?' </p><p>Harry was momentarily hypnotised by the way Draco's fingers started to move—looping the stray end of yarn around the needles and doing something intricate to get it all weaved together somehow. He blinked a bit, remembering Draco's question. 'Oh, er, well sometimes I've gone to the Weasleys, and sometimes I've stayed behind at Hogwarts. Both are pretty nice, I guess.' </p><p>Draco's eyes flicked up at him past his click-clacking needles, then down again as he licked at his bottom lip. 'What would you think about spending it together? Here?' He rushed to add, 'Just an idea.' </p><p>Harry paused his spice grinding. 'Oh,' he breathed out, and looked around the flat automatically, as if picturing it. 'That'd be really nice.' </p><p>'Don't feel obligated.' </p><p>'I don't!' Harry grinned, and dropped the pestle. He came round the kitchen island and bent down to kiss Draco on the mouth. 'I love the idea. Let's do it.' </p><p>Draco chased his mouth to kiss him again. 'Yeah?' </p><p>'Yeah.' </p><p>Draco tried, and failed, to hold back a beaming smile. It made Harry's heart lurch. 'We can have a big dinner. Decorate a tree together.' </p><p>'Sounds perfect.' And he meant it. He’d never had his own tree. Well, they’d be sharing of course, and it’d stay at Draco’s … but it’d be <i>theirs</i>. </p><p>Harry went back to his spices, unable to keep a smile from his face, as Draco's clacking resumed. Harry poured the spice mixture into a deep dish, added the yoghurt and the lamb pieces, and mixed it all together. Next he covered the bowl, and set it inside the fridge to sit. </p><p>Next he'd prepare the remaining ingredients while he waited for the meat to be ready. Unfortunately, that included onion chopping.  </p><p>'I've got to chop an onion.' He rummaged around in the cupboard for his chopping board. </p><p>The clacking stopped. 'Ah, <i>onions</i>,’ he said with absolute contempt. ‘Well, thank you for the warning.' Draco gathered up his knitting, and stood. </p><p>'I'll miss you.' </p><p>Draco laughed. 'Don't be daft.' He lingered for a moment. 'Chopping an onion releases a chemical compound defence mechanism into the air, which then stimulates the eyes’ lachrymal glands to produce tears. Fun fact for you.' </p><p>Harry let out a surprise laugh. </p><p>'Evil vegetable,' Draco added, tossing him a smirk. 'I'll be in the living room until it's over.' </p><p>'Fair enough.' Harry watched Draco turn and saunter out of the room—with a chest chock-full of affection for him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>The biryani took a lot of work, but Harry thought it was worth it.<p>'It's so fucking delicious, Harry,' Draco said, spooning some more onto his plate. ‘Thank you.’ </p><p>'I'm glad,’ he said softly. He wondered if he’d always have this feeling, cooking for Malfoy, or if it’d someday feel normal and boring. </p><p>They finished their meal, spelled the dishes to self-clean, played a game of Wizard’s Chess (Draco won), before it was time for bed. </p><p>They walked down the hallway, and both paused near Harry’s bedroom door. </p><p>‘Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?’ Draco asked, studying him. </p><p>'<i>Yes</i>,' Harry said, without having to think on it, for even a second. <i>Fuck</i> yes, in fact. It got his heart rate going at just the thought of it. They hadn't talked seriously about sex yet, and whether it was time to take their relationship to that level—if they wanted to or not.  </p><p>If they were ready, brilliant. If they weren't, well, that'd be brilliant too, because he'd get to be in a bed with Draco all night long.  </p><p>Draco bit at his lower lip, and a smile grew out the edges. 'Okay.' </p><p>So, after they'd dressed for bed in their separate rooms, and brushed their teeth, Harry met Draco in his bedroom.  </p><p>Harry looked around wide-eyed at the décor—Draco'd painted the walls and ceiling in a muted purple, with little dabs of yellow paint all over to resemble stars. And from the ceiling hung several criss-crossing strands of fairy lights. The bed itself was a queen—draped with a fluffy white comforter like a cloud, and dotted with many multi-coloured pillows. He also had a somewhat-disappointingly-normal wooden nightstand and matching wardrobe, plus a white-curtained window. </p><p>Wordlessly, Draco walked over to the light switch by the door, and shut the overhead light off. Then he flicked a switch on the end of a fairy light strand, and the ceiling lit up with tiny rainbow-coloured lights.  </p><p>'<i>Oh,</i> it's lovely,' Harry said, awed. He rounded on Draco, and marvelled at the faint glow of different colours lighting his skin in the darkness. </p><p>'Thank you,’ Draco said softly, holding his own hands—fidgeting just slightly. ‘Ah, what side do you usually sleep on?' </p><p>'Neither side. I've only ever had a twin bed my entire life. So, er, wherever you want me to sleep is fine. Makes no difference to me.' </p><p>The corners of Draco's mouth lifted, just a fraction. 'Okay, I usually take the right.' </p><p>'Okay.' </p><p>Draco stepped carefully over to his side of the bed, and climbed in underneath his puffy blanket. Harry wondered why this felt so hesitant and, well, rather awkward. This was <i>them</i>, after all. They hadn't been shy like this, not since they'd gotten together. Usually it felt like they could talk about anything and everything. </p><p>Draco lay flat on his back, with hands folded overtop the blanket. He watched Harry rather expectantly, so Harry gave a little shake to his head, and went around the other side of the bed, slipping in. </p><p>He faced Draco, squirming to get comfortable against the pillow, and Draco slowly turned to follow suit. </p><p>'Are you all right?' Harry asked, searching Draco's face. He seemed rather stiff. </p><p>Draco's automatic answer was a nod. Then he seemed to consider it. 'I've never slept with someone before.' A blotchy blush rose to his cheeks.  </p><p>'Okay,' Harry said gently. 'I don't think I snore or anything. Sometimes I have nightmares, but they've become more rare lately. After therapy.' He shot Draco a smile. </p><p>'I mean, I haven't <i>slept</i> with someone before.' That blush seemed to deepen, and even out over Draco's whole face. </p><p><i>Oh</i>. Right. 'You've never had sex, you mean?' </p><p>Draco pinched his mouth closed, and shook his head slightly. Harry could tell Draco was holding himself stiffly, like he was afraid of Harry's reaction to this. </p><p>Harry blinked a bit. 'Oh. Okay. Well I didn't think we were necessarily going to go straight to that today. That is to say, there's no rush or anything—I don't have any expectations out of tonight. I'm just happy to be with you, even if it's just lying down … lying down and actually sleeping … yeah, that's brilliant in itself.' <i>Yes</i>, just being close to Draco, maybe even holding each other as they slept—sounded perfect, really. </p><p>'You're not surprised or …?' </p><p>Harry thought on that for a moment. Okay, admittedly he hadn't thought Draco inexperienced, since he'd been quite descriptive with his fantasies. 'I don't know. I guess we've had some pretty explicit conversations in the journal … but that doesn't mean—' </p><p>'I read a lot.' Draco winced and gave a little shrug to his shoulder.  </p><p>'Ah. Makes sense.' He licked at his bottom lip.  </p><p>'But you … you seem to have a pretty hands-on amount of experience. I mean, when you're writing about it. It's all so vivid, like you've done a lot of … sexual activities.' </p><p>A surprised laugh burst out of Harry, causing Draco to frown, and turn a darker shade of red—but he'd laughed because that'd been such an endearing way to put it. 'You think I'm some Casanova or some bollocks?' he said, forcing his voice to be gentle, so Draco would know he wasn't trying to tease him. 'Not at all. Okay—granted—yes, I've had sex before. But you may've noticed that I've been pretty busy in recent years, so everything has been hurried and definitely clumsy, and sometimes not very good. So, don't worry about it, honestly. I <i>like</i> you. And I don't expect everything to be, like, mind-blowing at first or anything. There's always a period of learning, I think, when you're getting to know each other's bodies and what you each like—because everyone's a bit different in that department. You know?' </p><p>Draco licked at his bottom lip, and nodded slowly. His posture had seemed to relax a fraction. </p><p>'There's no rush,' Harry repeated.  </p><p>'I just didn't want you to expect … After all those conversations ...' Draco stopped himself, and licked at his bottom lip again. He inched closer, and his eyes took on a renewed confidence. 'Harry, I want to—I'm ready for more. I want you.' </p><p>Harry sucked in a breath. Those words sounded so determined, yet vulnerable, coming from Draco. 'Okay, we can start slow. We can stop or slow down, or switch things up if needed.' </p><p>'Just come here and kiss me,' Draco said, with wide, unblinking eyes and a slightly-parted mouth. </p><p>So, Harry did—he shuffled in closer, and pressed his mouth to Draco's soft lips. It was slow, and easy. They'd gotten the kissing thing down-pat. </p><p>Draco shifted his whole body closer, pressing the full length of himself into Harry. And it nearly took Harry's breath away. His body was so solid, with only thin pyjama material between them—so Harry could feel his body heat, the rise and fall of his breaths. Every bony part and every soft part. It was already sending Harry's blood pumping. </p><p>Draco must've felt Harry filling out, because he gasped into Harry's mouth and pulled back, wide-eyed. 'Can we …' he started. </p><p>'What?' </p><p>'Take off some clothing?' </p><p>'Fuck, yes,' Harry said in a breath, already moving back to pull the t-shirt up over his head.  </p><p>Draco watched him, watched him toss the t-shirt aside onto the floor, and then push down his pyjama bottoms and pants from underneath the blanket.  </p><p>Harry paused when he realised Draco wasn't moving yet. 'Oh. Should I go slower? Or, did you not mean to take everything off?' Shit, he was probably being too hasty, when he'd already promised they could go slow. </p><p>Draco's eyes seemed quite dilated, practically all black, as they wandered down Harry's neck, his chest, his stomach. 'No, I meant for everything off.' </p><p>'Oh …' Harry stared at Draco for a beat, not really understanding the hold-up. 'What about you, though?' </p><p>Draco blinked a bit. 'Ah, yes. Forgot about me.' He then pulled his nightshirt up over his head, and flung it aside, then he leant back on the pillow and looked at Harry. The blanket had lowered, revealing an expanse of chest, and half a pink nipple. </p><p>But Harry was distracted by the raised bit of scar tissue running from one shoulder diagonally downwards. He reached out to touch the smooth, slippery skin there, as his heartrate sped up. Harry's semi immediately disappeared, as a cold sense of dread rose within him. 'Draco … did I do this?' </p><p>Draco caught the back of his hand, and looked significantly into Harry's eyes. 'It's only a mark.' </p><p>Fuck … The ramifications, the significance of … This was Harry's <i>boyfriend</i> … 'Draco,' Harry bit out, painfully, 'should you be with someone who nearly killed you?' Fuck, Harry had … Harry had done the worst …  </p><p>His breathing was picking up, but he wasn't registering that. He was only focussing on the fact that he'd nearly murdered his own boyfriend once, and that fact was a very bad thing. Was he abusing Draco? Right now? Was it a victim/perpetrator thing? Did Harry hold a power imbalance in their relationship? Did they have to break up? </p><p>His face scrunched up, his throat hurt—he was … he was probably about to cry. </p><p>It was getting hard to breathe. </p><p>'Harry …' Draco dropped Harry's hand on his chest, and instead reached for Harry's shoulder, bringing him into a tight embrace. 'Harry,' he said again.  </p><p>Harry was breathing too fast.  </p><p>'Match your breaths to my breaths. All right? Can you do that?' Draco asked. 'Breathe with me.' </p><p>Harry registered his own hand on Draco's bare chest, trapped between their two bodies. He felt Draco's exaggeratingly-slow breaths.  </p><p>'Match them.' </p><p>Harry tried. In, and out.  </p><p>He was crying— </p><p>In, and out. </p><p>'Harry …' </p><p>In, and out. </p><p>'Sweetheart,' said so softly. </p><p>In, and out. </p><p>'I'm alive because of you,' a whisper, a kiss on the temple. 'Remember all the times you saved me?' </p><p>In, and out. </p><p>Harry let out a choked cry. 'I'm sorry,' he was able to bite out. Harry realised then, that Draco was rubbing at his back.  </p><p>'We've already talked about this. And I forgive you for that, don't you remember?' </p><p>Tears were pouring down Harry's face. He hated it, hated this. Hated crying. Hated that he was wholly unprepared for it, for this. </p><p>'Harry darling.' Another kiss, to his cheekbone this time.  </p><p>He gasped a shaky, wet breath. 'I'm so sorry.' </p><p>'I know you are, and I forgive you for it.' </p><p>Harry blinked, inadvertently blinking tears away. His vision focused through the wetness of his eyelashes, and he saw Draco looking back at him, his face so close on the pillow. His face so full of concern and warmth and affection—it tugged, <i>pulled</i>, at Harry's heart.  </p><p>Draco swiped a palm over Harry's cheek. 'I love you.' </p><p>Harry blinked at him, not quite registering … 'What?' he whispered. </p><p>'<i>I love you</i>,' Draco said again, with a growing smile. </p><p>'You love me,' Harry echoed, seemingly from somewhere far off. </p><p>'Yes.' </p><p>Harry stared at him, stared at the beautiful person inches away from his face. The person who'd yet again helped him through the start of an anxiety attack, at the very worst of times—when they'd been trying to be intimate for the first time.  </p><p>And Draco loved him.  </p><p>Harry sucked in a slow breath, just staring. </p><p>'You don't have to say anything,' Draco said, smiling at him, and pulling him into his arms. </p><p>They lay like that for a while, with Draco lightly stroking Harry’s back until he finally felt safe and more like himself again. </p><p>‘Do we have to break up?’ Harry asked into Draco’s chest, and his whole upper body clenched inwards at the thought. They needed to talk about this, though, even though it was painful. This was important. </p><p>‘Of course not, why would we?’ </p><p>‘Because I’m the one who did this,’ he said, touching two fingers to one of Draco’s scars. </p><p>‘<i>Accidentally</i>. And I started it. Plus Snape patched me up quickly, there wasn’t a true danger there ...’ </p><p>Harry stroked at the scar tissue, and frowned.  </p><p>‘I know you won’t ever try to hurt me again. And that’s the part to focus on, don’t you think? <i>That’s</i> what matters. We don’t abuse each other. We fought in the past, yes, but we’re not going to fight anymore, not like that.’ </p><p>Harry tilted his head up to look at Draco, and registered the worry there in Draco’s wide eyes, in his scrunched brow. </p><p>‘Do <i>you</i> want to break up?’ </p><p>‘No!’ Harry said quickly. ‘No, it’s just … I wondered if we had to.’ </p><p>‘Well that’s up to us, and only us. It doesn’t matter what anyone else might think or say. If you’re happy, and I’m happy, and we’re not harming each other, and we <i>want</i> to be together … then, why shouldn’t we?’ </p><p>Harry reached up to touch Draco’s cheek, thumbing at his cheekbone. ‘I … suppose that makes sense. You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?’ </p><p>‘Of course. So as long as you do the same with me.’ </p><p>Harry smiled, just a bit. ‘Deal.’ </p><p>Draco enveloped him in his arms again, and kissed the top of his head. 'You're sweaty. Let's have a shower. Yeah?' </p><p>Harry nodded slowly into Draco’s neck. Shower sounded nice.  </p><p>Draco nudged him off the bed, and scooted over with him, getting out from Harry’s side too. He found Harry's hand, and led him to the bathroom, turning on the bright light—which brought stars into Harry's eyes, causing him to blink a lot. Draco dropped Harry's hand, and stepped over to the shower stall. He fiddled with the nob, starting a noisy stream of water. Draco then tested the temperature with a hand, and, satisfied with the temperature, led Harry hand-in-hand into the shower stall with him, shutting the glass door behind them both. Draco nudged Harry underneath the water.  </p><p>And it felt good—hot, but not too hot. It streamed over his hair, down his back and chest, and down to his bare feet.  </p><p>Draco twisted, and reached for something on the rack behind himself. He turned back around with a hand full of shampoo, and brought it up to Harry's head. They made eye contact then, and Draco smiled, as he began massaging the shampoo into Harry's wet curls.  </p><p>Draco's fingers were slow—and thorough. And it gave Harry goosebumps up the back of his arms. No one had ever done this for him, it was like he was being cared for …  </p><p>He exhaled slow, and savoured the feel of Draco's fingers. Harry was in love with him, with Draco.  </p><p>He was.  </p><p>Draco nudged Harry backwards, underneath the stream, and carded his fingers through Harry's hair to help rinse the shampoo out.  </p><p>Then he twisted around for a moment, and returned with conditioner in his palm. Draco repeated the same movements, massaging Harry's scalp. </p><p>And Harry could only watch Draco's face. </p><p>Draco twisted around once more, and produced a palm-full of body wash. He rubbed his hands together to lather it, and then he brought both palms to Harry's chest, and rubbed his hands up to Harry's neck. </p><p>And Harry leaned in to kiss him.  </p><p>Draco's soapy palms slipped down Harry's chest, to his abdomen.  </p><p>Harry pulled Draco into him, so that their bodies were flush together. Wet, and soapy. Expanses of naked skin on skin. Chest-to-chest, knee-to-knee. And Draco's penis, which Harry hadn't even seen yet, soft and pressed up just slightly to the right of Harry's own.  </p><p>Harry pulled back again, looking into Draco's bright, silvery eyes. 'Draco. I love you too, you know? I love you.’' </p><p>Draco's eyelids fluttered in the breathless span of a moment. Then he smiled, and leant in for another kiss, through his smiling lips, reaching around Harry's back to hold him close.  </p><p>'I'm sorry,' Harry said again, whispering into Draco's mouth.  </p><p>Draco pulled back again, to study Harry's face. </p><p>'For making this all so bloody awkward tonight,' Harry continued, wincing. 'You've been so …' He took a breath. 'So good with me. Thank you.' </p><p>The corner of Draco's mouth quirked up, and his eyes were just so … so affectionate. Harry almost wanted to look away, like they were too bright.  </p><p>Draco pushed Harry back underneath the stream, gently, to rinse off the conditioner and the soap. </p><p>'This is just like what we'd written about, all those weeks ago,' Harry said softly, as Draco carded his fingers through his hair again. 'It started in the shower, that fantasy. When I didn't know you were you, and you didn't know I was me.' </p><p>A small smile grew on Draco’s lips as he watched his own fingers work the conditioner out of Harry’s hair. </p><p>Now adequately rinsed, Harry wiped the water droplets from his face, and took a step closer to Draco. ‘I’m ready now.’ </p><p>Draco blinked at him. ‘Are you sure?’ </p><p>‘Yes.’ </p><p>Searching his eyes, Draco asked, 'Do you want me to act it out, the same way as the fantasy?' <i>On his knees, a finger up the arse</i>, Harry remembered breathlessly. </p><p>'No,' Harry said, taking hold of Draco's waist and turning him—switching their places. 'Can I suck you off instead?' He wanted to do something for Draco first, to show how much he appreciated him. </p><p>'Yes,' Draco said, wide-eyed and breathy.  </p><p>Harry cupped Draco's cheek, brushing his thumb over the smooth skin there. He let his hand fall to Draco's neck, over his collarbone, and to his chest. His fingers flitted over the scar tissue, wet and slippery. And Harry allowed himself to look down, to see the raised scars. He traced them down, followed their path, to a patch of dark blond wiry hairs, and Harry took a step back in order to get a better look. Draco's penis, a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin, and half-hard, was just out of his finger's reach. </p><p>And it was perfect. </p><p>He felt himself getting hard again, just at the sight of Draco—naked and waiting. Draco's eyes were heavily lidded, his lips parted. He was just looking at Harry—Harry's body—watching as Harry's own cock filled.  </p><p>Harry reached out and touched Draco's, with just the pads of his fingertips.  </p><p>And Draco braced onto the sides of the shower. </p><p>‘All right?’ Harry asked. </p><p>‘<i>Yes</i>.’ </p><p>It was so like Harry's own, but different. Pinker where Harry's was a darker brown, and just a bit thinner and longer. And Harry's cockhead was thicker. Harry's fingers traced over the differences, mapping them, trying to memorise them. </p><p>Draco reached out, and touched Harry's, sending a jolt of surprise pleasure through him. </p><p>They met each other's eyes—Draco's were dark with naked desire. </p><p>'I was going to suck you,' Harry said. </p><p>Draco responded with a step closer, and an open-mouthed kiss. His grip tightened on Harry's cock, and then it moved—slowly at first. </p><p>Harry let out a moan, into Draco's mouth, and Draco just kept tonguing at him, as his hand pumped harder.  </p><p>So Harry moved to match it, moving his tongue against Draco's, gripping onto Draco's now fully-hard cock, pumping it from base to tip, trying to match Draco's heavenly rhythm.  </p><p>'Harry,' Draco bit out, practically a whine, into Harry's mouth. His fingers faltered on Harry's penis, slowing, and gripping harder, as Draco's whole body seemed to tense up. He panted into to Harry's mouth, and let out a strangled cry. </p><p>And Harry felt hot liquid spurting into his own hand.  </p><p>Draco broke away from the kiss, and leaned his forehead against Harry's shoulder—panting hard. </p><p>Harry tilted his head to kiss Draco's temple, and pulled him in closer by his slick, wet back. </p><p>It took a moment for Draco to catch his breath, then his grip on Harry's cock tightened. 'You didn't come yet,' he murmured. </p><p>'Not yet,' Harry agreed, planting kisses on every spot on the side of Draco's face that he could reach.  </p><p>Draco tilted his head up, and captured Harry's mouth in a kiss, as his hand began to stroke Harry again. 'I want you to feel good,' he whispered against Harry's lips. </p><p>'I do.' And he flicked his tongue out, in the hopes that Draco would meet it with his own. And he did.  </p><p>They kissed lazily, as Draco's hand stroked him with increasing pressure.  </p><p>Draco broke away to ask, 'Want me to suck you?'  </p><p>Harry didn't know about that. He sort of wanted to keep it feeling equal, at least for now. It didn't seem quite right to get a blow job when Draco'd only got a hand job. He shook his head slightly. 'Another time.' </p><p>Draco seemed to study his eyes for a moment, then nodded, changing the rhythm of his hand.  </p><p>Harry arched up a bit. 'That … feels good,' he panted out. </p><p>'Yeah?' </p><p>'Mm. Want to stick your finger in my arse a bit?' </p><p>A breathy laugh. 'Fuck, yeah.' Draco moved in closer, and ran his hand down Harry's wet lower back, and cupped his arse cheek. 'You've a fantastic arse,' he murmured, leaning in to kiss at Harry's jaw.  </p><p>Draco's wet fingers fumbled over the arse crack, and dipped inside, searching for his arsehole. Just having Draco's fingers near there brought him closer to completion. But the fingers moved, they went lower and lower, and found Harry's anus.  </p><p>'Harry,' Draco breathed out, ghosting over Harry's cheek. 'Do you know how sexy you are?' </p><p>Harry laughed under his breath. 'Just stick it in already.' </p><p>'Merlin, I'm going to remember those words.' Then he pressed his fingertip against Harry's arsehole, and pushed in.  </p><p><i>Fuck</i>. </p><p>It felt—<i>fuck</i>—so good, so bloody incredible, to have Draco's fingers both places at once. Harry tilted his head to capture Draco's lips into an open-mouthed kiss. Draco pushed into him, leaning him up against the shower wall, as his finger eased in and out of him, and his other hand pumped at his cock.  </p><p>'Draco,' Harry whined out, as the pleasure built and built and built. Fucking hell. 'Draco, I think—' His orgasm surprised him, rippling out his body, shooting in white hot bursts against Draco's hand and the shower wall.  </p><p>Draco helped him ride it out, kissing him though it.  </p><p>That was … that was … </p><p>Draco gently eased his finger out Harry's arse, and let his sensitive cock drop from his palm. 'Oh, Harry.' </p><p>'Mm,' he answered, coming in to nuzzle at Draco's neck. </p><p>He felt so good. Exceptionally sated. Beautifully … relaxed.  </p><p>'Good?' Draco murmured. </p><p>'Fucking perfect,' Harry answered into Draco's wet neck.  </p><p>Draco pulled him closer to the water, to rinse off all the ejaculate from their bodies. </p><p>They stepped out of the shower, and Draco handed him a big, fluffy purple towel, and grabbed an orange one for himself from the cupboard.  </p><p>After they were sufficiently dry, they wrapped the towels around their waists and went back into the bedroom.  </p><p>Malfoy dropped his towel to the floor first, and fished around for his underpants. </p><p>Harry couldn't resist—he dropped his own towel and walked up to Draco, wrapping him up in his arms.  </p><p>Draco emitted a happy laugh, and held him close. They tumbled together, onto the bed, in each other's arms.  </p><p>Harry nuzzled into his warm, clean neck. 'Sorry I made our first time so bloody awkward.' </p><p>Draco let out a breathy laugh. 'Don't be. It was amazing. Of course I'd never <i>want</i> you to have anxiety, but that shower bit was quite lovely, don't you think?' </p><p>Harry smiled against the soft skin on Draco's neck, then pulled away to look at him. </p><p>Biting his lip, Draco added, 'I feel I should've warned you about the scars beforehand.' </p><p>Harry shook his head. 'Might've still been the same outcome. Seeing is different from hearing and … and I didn't predict that reaction. I thought we'd already, well, addressed it—like you said. But apparently something in me disagreed.' He offered an apologetic smile. </p><p>Inhaling slowly, Draco settled into a soft smile in return. 'Well we've thoroughly addressed it now, I think. I'm fine, and I'm not sorry it happened. You've apologised, and I've forgiven.' </p><p>Harry nodded. 'You're … kind of incredible.' </p><p>Laughing, Draco planted a hard kiss on Harry's brow. 'You are.' </p><p>Harry squeezed him in tighter, then released. He was calm now, content. He could probably fall asleep easily, soon enough. They'd wanked each other off, they were naked in each other's arms … life was pretty good. Harry let his eyes stray downwards, he saw the scar tissue again, criss-crossing over Draco's chest, and brought his finger up to trace its path once more.  </p><p>Draco kissed at his forehead, his temple, and let him touch.  </p><p>Harry pulled away even more, so he could see the whole of Draco. As his finger reached the base of one long scar, he shifted it to Draco's penis—soft and falling against the bed. He traced his finger over the length of it, as Draco sucked in a breath.  </p><p>'Harry …' </p><p>'Mm.' </p><p>He touched Draco's bollocks next, tracing their outline, feeling the paper-thin skin there. Returning to the cock, he held it gently, wrapping his fingers loosely around it, and leant in to kiss Draco on the mouth.  </p><p>Muffled, against Harry's lips, Draco asked, 'Are you trying to seduce me again?' </p><p>Harry laughed breathily, and pulled back to look in Draco's half-lidded eyes. 'Not really. I just like touching you. Is this okay?' </p><p>'Well <i>yes</i>, but I'm going to be hard again in a minute. So prepare yourself for that.' </p><p>Trying to repress a smile, Harry leaned in, and kissed him some more.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~~</p>
</div>Harry awoke with Draco in his arms. The sun had risen, painting lines of gold across the room. Harry pulled Draco in closer, and inhaled the citrusy scent from his hair.<p>'Mm,' Draco murmured, as he stirred awake.  </p><p>'You said you love me last night,' Harry marvelled aloud. It filled his chest with warmth, like a little burning fire inside him. </p><p>'Mm,' Draco uttered again, tilting his face to peer up at Harry blearily. 'And you said it back.' </p><p>'I did,' Harry echoed softly.  </p><p>Draco pushed himself up, and crawled up a fraction to lean over Harry, with hair in absolute disarray. Harry lifted his fingers up to run through the soft, slighty-frizzy strands.  </p><p>Draco threw a leg over the other side of Harry, so Draco was on hands and knees pinning Harry's body in place. Draco lowered himself a fraction, and wore a cheeky smirk on his face. </p><p>'What—' Harry began, and then he felt it. The tip of Draco's penis trailed a line across Harry's abdomen. Harry pushed the blanket down Draco's shoulders so he could watch Draco's soft cock travel across Harry's skin. 'Fuck, Draco, why is that so hot?' </p><p>'Because it's my cock.' </p><p>Harry marvelled as Draco's penis slowly filled up. 'Can I—?' </p><p>'Anything.' </p><p>He reached out to touch it, still half-soft. Harry's own cock hardened as he gave Draco's a little tug. 'I want to taste you.' </p><p>'Go ahead.' </p><p>'Come up here and put it in my mouth.' </p><p>'Mm, I like where your heads at,' Draco said, as he shuffled forward to position himself above Harry's mouth. </p><p>Harry opened his mouth a little, and waited. </p><p>Draco took himself by the hand, and rubbed his cock over Harry's chin, circled around Harry's lips, and then entered him—entered Harry's mouth.  </p><p>Harry sucked at the head gently, and felt as Draco's cock rapidly filled up all the way. It tasted of skin and musk and a little bitterness. And Harry fucking loved it.  </p><p>Draco pulled out. 'Okay?' </p><p>'<i>Yes,</i> fuck my face, will you?' </p><p>Draco blinked down at him, with eyelids half-closed. 'Merlin, Harry. Fuck yes.'  </p><p>He pushed himself back inside of Harry's mouth, and gave a little thrust. His cockhead rubbed against the roof of Harry's mouth. Draco did it again, and then again, and again. And Harry hollowed his mouth out, and tried to keep from gagging as Draco got himself in a rhythm. </p><p>'Harry,' Draco breathed out as he thrust. 'Oh, Harry.'  </p><p>Harry spluttered and choked a bit as Draco thrust a bit far. </p><p>'<i>Sorry</i>.' </p><p><i>S'ok</i>, Harry attempted to say around Draco's cock, but it only came out as a hum. </p><p>'Oh! Keep doing that,' Draco said. </p><p>So Harry hummed a buzz around Draco's cock as Draco's speed increased. In, out, in. </p><p>'<i>Harry</i>!' Draco came with a cry, shooting hot, bitter liquid at the back of Harry's throat.  </p><p>Draco rode out his orgasm in Harry's mouth, as Harry tried to swallow all the come around it.  </p><p>'You …' Draco said through a gasp. 'Fuck—' He popped his softening cock out of Harry's mouth and collapsed down beside him. He only lay there for a few seconds before planting a kiss on Harry's cheek, and crawling down the bed. Then Draco wasted no time in swallowing Harry's cock into his mouth. </p><p>'Oh!' Harry exclaimed, watching—<i>captivated</i>—as his penis mostly disappeared from view inside Draco's hot mouth. And when Draco lifted up, it shone wet with Draco's saliva. </p><p>This was …  </p><p>Fuck. Amazing, really.  </p><p>And after having Draco's cock in his mouth (he could still <i>taste</i> his come), and a mind full of the way Draco looked as he orgasmed, Harry was not going to last long.  </p><p>Draco's head bobbed up and down, creating a delicious rhythm—and pressure was <i>already</i> mounting.  </p><p>He nudged Harry's leg upwards, indicating he should lift his left knee up. Harry grunted and arched his back as he obeyed, just as Draco sucked harder and pushed Harry's legs apart even more. </p><p>Fingers were suddenly in a place they hadn't been a moment before—Draco's fingers were pushing into the space below Harry's bollocks, searching for Harry's arsehole. And, within seconds, they found it. </p><p>'<i>Fuck</i>, Harry gasped out. 'Draco—'  </p><p>The pad of Draco's index finger circled and pushed at the hole like a button. </p><p>'Draco!' It felt so good, it felt—  </p><p>Draco moaned through a mouthful of Harry.  </p><p>That was it, that was enough to make Harry come hard inside of him.  </p><p>And Draco swallowed it all down, just as Harry had.  </p><p>He let Harry's cock pop out of his mouth, removed his fingers from Harry's arse, and lay his head down on Harry's hip.  </p><p>'That was …' Harry gasped out. </p><p>'Mm,' Draco agreed. He tilted his head and bit playfully at Harry's hipbone. </p><p>Flinching, Harry laughed under his breath. 'Come here.' </p><p>'You come here,' Draco said sleepily, happily. </p><p>Harry laughed again. 'Come <i>here</i>.' </p><p>Groaning, Draco crawled his way up Harry's body and collapsed over half of him, with his face pressed up against Harry's cheek.  </p><p>Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's sated and spent body, holding him close. 'You're fucking amazing.'  </p><p>'You are.' Draco kissed lazily at Harry's cheek. </p><p>They lay like that for a while. Harry absently rubbed the back of Draco's arm. </p><p>'Do you think you're a top or a bottom?' Draco asked sleepily. </p><p>Harry laughed. 'I don't know why you'd have to be one or the other.' He tilted his head to look at Draco properly. 'I'd like to try both ways, actually.' </p><p>A lazy smile formed on Draco's mouth. His eyes were closed. 'Me too.’ A short pause, then, ‘Harry, what’s for breakfast? </p><p>He laughed and flipped Draco over. ‘What do you want?’ </p><p>Draco just smiled—that enigmatic little smile Harry so loved.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry woke on Christmas morning with his chest flush against Draco's back, and an arm wrapped around him, with palm flat against Draco's heart. He tightened his grip some, as he inhaled Draco's scent, nuzzling his nose into Draco's messy hair. This was one his favourite things now—waking up in Draco's bed. </p><p>Draco stirred, and shifted slowly onto his back within Harry's arms. 'Mm,' he uttered without opening his eyes. A hand came up to clumsily guide Harry's head toward him for a kiss. </p><p>Smiling, Harry kissed corner of Draco's mouth. </p><p>'Happy Christmas,' Draco mumbled, thick with sleep.  </p><p>'Happy Christmas, love.' </p><p>Draco moved to kiss Harry properly, on the mouth, and Harry sank into it.  </p><p>Draco's hand fumbled around in the sheets until it found its target—Harry's crotch. Draco held Harry's cock and balls through the pyjama fabric, just held him there in his palm.  </p><p>Well, two could play at that, whatever it was. </p><p>Harry navigated under Draco's arm and through the sheets to find that soft space between Draco's legs. He gathered Draco's cock and balls in one hand through the fabric of Draco's nightshirt and lifted it a bit. He thumbed at Draco's head through the cotton.  </p><p>'Mm,' Draco uttered again, opening his mouth and letting that pink tongue out to swipe across Harry's bottom lip.  </p><p>Harry parted his lips to allow Draco's tongue to enter and flick wet against his.  </p><p>Slow, lazy. They had so much time. They could spend all of Christmas in bed even, if they wanted. </p><p>Draco let go of his hold on Harry's crotch, instead slipping his fingers underneath Harry's waistband. Fingers carded through pubic hair, and came to rest upon Harry's cock and balls again—bare skin on bare skin. Draco's fingertips brushed across Harry's cockhead. And Harry was becoming well on his way to hard.  </p><p>'Draco,' he whispered, letting go of his own hold on Draco, and working to pull the covers down off both of them. He was going to want to see this better.  </p><p>Draco's nightshirt was all bunched-up near his hips, with long, pale, lightly-haired legs stretching towards the foot of the bed. Harry tugged Draco's nightshirt up to get a better look at what was below. And there it was—Draco’s half-hard penis rested against a pale hip.  </p><p>Harry kissed at the edge of Draco's mouth. As far as he knew, Draco still hadn't opened his eyes yet. 'I want to ride you,' Harry murmured. </p><p>A sleepy smile spread across Draco's face. 'You may.' </p><p>Harry's cock slipped out of Draco's fingers as Harry moved to sit up. He removed his t-shirt and pyjama bottoms in two quick movements, then he reached for his wand on Draco's nightstand. A quick set of prep, protection, and lubrication spells got them ready in a flash. Harry tugged on Draco's slickened cock to get him fully erect in seconds. </p><p>'What's the hurry?' Draco asked, with a smirk. He'd opened his eyes to squint at Harry, amused. </p><p>'I want you inside of me right now.' </p><p>'Ah,' Draco said, with a slight smile, as if Harry'd answered a question about the weather. He moved to lift up his nightshirt. </p><p>'No,' Harry cut in. 'Keep it on.' The nightshirt was fucking sexy on him, and there was something about being fully naked while Draco was fully-clothed …  </p><p>Draco raised an eyebrow, but dropped his arms to his sides. </p><p>Harry climbed over top Draco, with knees on either side of his torso.  </p><p>Draco helped by holding his cock straight up, as Harry lowered himself down on it. That first brush of cockhead against arsehole was heaven. Harry kept pushing down, as Draco bit at his lip—watching Harry's face.  </p><p>Draco's slick penis breached past that sensitive ring of nerve endings, and Harry sat down slowly, grunting a bit as Draco slowly filled him up.  </p><p>Once all the way down, Harry paused, took a breath, and just looked down at Draco—beautiful, with his frizzy near-white hair a halo on his pillow. And Draco looked back up at him, flushed, with stormy eyes dilated, and lower lip bit at the side. Harry took that moment, while adjusting, to gaze fondly into the eyes that loved him.  </p><p>Then, he moved. </p><p>Before long, he was slamming himself down, as Draco's fingernails racked against Harry's thighs. Draco wriggled and moaned, and made little thrusts upwards to meet Harry's movements.  </p><p>'Fuck! <i>Malfoy</i>!' </p><p>'Potter you absolute arse!' </p><p>Fuck, <i>yes</i>—something about that, about family names, while Harry rode Draco so hard …  </p><p>'Potter! Potter! Potter! Potter!' </p><p>'Malfoy!' Harry cried out through gritted teeth. </p><p>Draco's fingers frantically fumbled for Harry's cock as it bounced in the air, neglected. He grabbed onto it, and pumped it just as fast as Harry's arse moved on Draco's cock. </p><p>And just like that, Harry was coming in strings of pearly liquid onto Draco's nightshirt, onto his chin and hand.  </p><p>His orgasm sent pulses through him, rippling through all of him.  </p><p>Draco moaned, grabbed onto Harry's thighs, and came hard inside of Harry. </p><p>Panting, Harry collapsed onto Draco's sweaty, come-dirtied chest. He kissed at Draco's cheek.  </p><p>'Merlin's tits,' Draco said softly. 'I think that was the best time yet.' </p><p>Harry laughed, breathy against Draco's cheek. 'We've had practice. Might be even better next time.' </p><p>Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's bare, sweaty back. 'I'm not sure I'd survive better than that.' </p><p>Harry smiled against Draco's soft skin. </p><p>They lay in bed in one another's arms for a long while, and kissed some more. Then, when how hot and sticky they were became rather uncomfortable, it was time for a shower. A relatively chaste shower, that is; with only a few kisses. </p><p>Once dressed in clean pyjamas, they went out into the living room together. Their slightly bent Christmas tree sparkled with the lights they'd enchanted onto it, illuminating the many second-hand ornaments they'd picked out together. (Harry's favourite was the knock-off Oscar-the-Grouch figurine holding a banner that read "one man's trash is another man's treasure".) He reached out and squeezed Draco's hand. <i>Their first Christmas together.</i> </p><p>Underneath the tree sat a bunch of wrapped gifts, piled high.  </p><p>'Tea?' Draco asked. </p><p>'Yeah,' Harry answered softly. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the tree. <i>Their</i> tree. 'Er, yes please.' </p><p>Draco gave a squeeze to Harry's hand before shuffling off to the kitchen.  </p><p>Hearing the kettle start up broke Harry out of his stupor. He walked into the kitchen, spotted Draco there with his back to him—pulling two mugs from the cupboard, and setting them down on the counter. Harry came up behind and wrapped his arms around Draco, bringing their bodies flush together as he nuzzled into the back of Draco's neck. He smelled so good—he always smelled so good. </p><p>Draco huffed a little laugh, surprised by this impromptu embrace, and twisted round in Harry's arms. 'Harry,' he whispered, looking at Harry with such raw affection in his eyes. Draco leaned forward, and kissed him.  </p><p>This might be the best Christmas Harry’s ever had. </p><p>The kettle took this opportunity to whistle. So Harry pulled away—extremely reluctantly.  </p><p>Smirking at him, Draco turned to fix their teas. ‘We can snog later.’ </p><p>‘Mm.’ Harry laid his face on Draco’s shoulder as Draco worked. It probably wasn’t very convenient of him.  </p><p>They brought their teas into the living room and settled onto the sofa. Draco leaned over to snatch the closest gift to himself, and handed it over to Harry.  </p><p>'Happy Christmas, Harry.' </p><p>The gift was large and lumpy in his hands. Harry grinned. 'I think I know what this is.' </p><p>'Well, open it then.' </p><p>Harry tore at the Father Christmas-patterned wrapping paper, to reveal a chunky maroon-coloured knitted blanket. 'It's beautiful,’ he said, holding it up so he could see it. 'Thank you, Draco I love it so much.' He leaned over to kiss Draco hard on the cheek. Harry's heart was so full.  </p><p>'You're very welcome.' </p><p>Smiling, Harry draped the blanket across both of their legs. It was so soft and <i>warm</i>. 'Grab one of the presents for you next.' </p><p>'All right.' Draco leant over and picked up a small rectangular package, wrapped in a candy cane pattern. 'This?' </p><p>'Sure.' </p><p>Draco unwrapped it carefully, as if he planned to re-use the paper later. Once he got the gift out, he blinked down at it—evidently perplexed.  </p><p>Harry laughed.  </p><p>'Swimmers' goggles?' </p><p>'<i>Yes</i>.' Draco's confused expression amused Harry to no end.  </p><p>'This is … very kind of you, Harry. I must admit, however, that I am not much of a swimmer.' </p><p>Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, and leant his whole weight on him, as he grinned at the clear plastic wrapped item in Draco's hands. 'It's for when I'm chopping onions, Draco. You can put those on and your eyes will be fine! You won't have to run away to the other room!' </p><p>Draco looked like he couldn't decide if he was amused or exasperated. 'You honestly expect me to put these on while you're cooking?' </p><p>'Just for the onion bit.' Harry kissed him on the cheek again. 'I'm sure you'll look quite handsome.' </p><p>Draco laughed, and twisted to kiss Harry on the mouth. 'Well. Thank you.' </p><p>'You're very welcome.' </p><p>It was Harry's turn again. He received a pair of fuzzy yellow socks. Harry put them on immediately, and they nearly reached up to his knees. 'Thank you. I love them so much.' </p><p>'You're welcome,' Draco said politely, with a little self-satisfied smile.  </p><p>Next, Draco received a pile of nice, soft yarns. </p><p>After that, Draco handed Harry a gift, and said, 'This is my last one for you.' </p><p>It was shaped like a book.  </p><p>Draco nodded. ‘Go on.’ </p><p>So Harry tore the wrapping off. It <i>was</i> a book. The red cover featured in block letters “RASACHANDRIKA”, and pictured two women, smiling and chatting in a kitchen, wearing saris.  </p><p>‘Open the cover.’ </p><p>Harry pulled it open, and the book cracked audibly. In delicate cursive writing, the top of the page had— ‘Eshma Potter?’ He looked up at Draco, wide-eyed. </p><p>Draco smiled. ‘Your father’s grandmother.’ </p><p>‘Really?’ He looked back down at the page. <i>His great-grandmother</i>.  </p><p>‘Look,’ Draco said, flipping a page for him, ‘she made notes along with the recipes.’ </p><p>‘Oh …’ Harry tried to swallow the lump that’d just formed in his throat. He flipped through some of the pages, saw little notes in cursive to add a little more cumin here, a little less coconut there. It was … it was sort of like she could teach him … teach him to cook like her ... </p><p>‘When a Pureblood dies, oftentimes they hold an estate sale to sell off everything that the family does not need, or has no room for. I presume your father didn’t want this,’ Draco said calmly, as if he were speaking of something insignificant, like the weather. ‘I was able to ask around, because I was certain there would be something belonging to your family, something that wasn’t destroyed when your parents …’ He cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, well, when Voldemort killed them. The Parkinsons had this particular book, Pansy’s mother had it stuck in a cupboard.’ </p><p>Harry looked up, and he could barely make Draco out through the tears in his eyes, he was just a wet blur. </p><p>‘<i>Oh</i>,’ Draco said. ‘Harry, I—’ </p><p>‘<i>Thank you</i>,’ he managed to blubber. </p><p>A fond, breathy laugh. ‘Darling.’ Draco finally moved closer, and wrapped his arms around Harry. </p><p>Harry nuzzled into his neck, as tears poured out. His chest was fit to burst. This was just … so, so lovely of Draco. </p><p>Draco pulled back to get a look at him, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over Harry’s wet cheeks. ‘Do you like it?’ </p><p>Harry choked out a laugh. ‘Bloody obviously.’ He sniffed. ‘You are so, so thoughtful. So unbelievably thoughtful, I …' Fuck, he didn’t even know what to say. So, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he kissed him.  </p><p>He kissed him until he could stop himself from crying. </p><p>Harry broke away, and swiped at his wet cheeks. 'One last one for you, there. But … Draco, I feel like you went above and beyond. And what I got you was—' </p><p>Draco cut him off with another kiss. 'I love you. Now stop that.' </p><p>Harry laughed. 'All right.' </p><p>Draco reached over for the last gift, and unwrapped it very carefully. He stared at the thing in his hand, as a slow grin blossomed on his face. 'Harry, I love it.' </p><p>He'd got him a black mug with a picture of Bruce Lee kicking the air above his head. A quote on the mug read in white font: "I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times." </p><p>'Yeah?' Harry asked. It was nothing like an heirloom cookbook, though. </p><p>'Yes. This is my new favourite mug. I'll use it forever.'  </p><p>Smiling, Harry leaned in to him. 'Happy Christmas, Draco.' </p><p>Against Harry's lips in a whisper, 'Happy Christmas, Harry.' </p><p>A knock on Draco's front door interrupted them from taking their snog further. They broke away from one another—and Draco looked as startled as Harry felt.  </p><p>They spoke simultaneously.  </p><p>'Expecting—?' </p><p>'Who could that—?'  </p><p>Draco cleared his throat, and straightened his nightshirt. 'No idea who that could be. Carole singers, perhaps?' </p><p>'At a flat?' Harry asked, not really expecting an answer. </p><p>Draco stood, and shrugged as he moved towards to the door.  </p><p>Harry watched from across the living room and kitchen, as Draco opened it wide.  </p><p>Draco's posture stiffened. 'Mother?' </p><p>Oh God. Oh … oh fuck. They'd been caught. Harry looked around wildly, and eyed the fireplace. Should he Floo out before he's seen? </p><p>He stood up, scrambled around the coffee table, and even grabbed a handful of Floo powder, when a voice stopped him. </p><p>'Mr Potter, <i>please</i>.' </p><p>He dropped the powder back into the bowl and turned slowly. </p><p>Narcissa Malfoy was stood in the wide archway that separated the two rooms, with Draco hovering nervously just behind her. Dressed in what was probably very expensive embroidered pearl robes, and with a large leather handbag to match, Mrs Malfoy gestured towards the sofa. Her expression seemed … faintly amused. 'Please. I won't keep you both long.' </p><p>Swallowing, Harry moved to sit back on the sofa. He was all-too-aware of his wrinkled old t-shirt and faded tartan pyjama bottoms.  </p><p>Mrs Malfoy sat down in the faux-leather red armchair, and motioned for Draco to sit with Harry. </p><p>Draco shot Harry a panicked look before doing just as she said.  </p><p>'Well, now,' Mrs Malfoy began, smiling slightly at them. She made perfect, unblinking, eye contact—it was a bit unnerving. 'First of all, Happy Christmas to you both.' </p><p>Harry nodded, and echoed, 'Happy Christmas.' </p><p>'Happy Christmas,' Draco mumbled. </p><p>'You've a sweet little flat, Draco,' she remarked next, looking around. 'Very cosy.' </p><p>Draco furrowed his brow. 'Mother—' </p><p>She held up a hand to stop him. 'I'm aware I wasn't invited, Draco.' She smiled at him, tilting her head down. 'But I can't go a Christmas without seeing my son.' </p><p>He blinked at her.  </p><p>'And I come bearing gifts.' Her eyes twinkled. </p><p>This was … very strange. Harry didn't know if he could relax yet, or if they were in for a horrible scolding about Draco's sexuality and his need for a wife and heir at any moment.  </p><p>Mrs Malfoy reached into her big purse, and pulled out two gifts, identically-wrapped in silvery paper. Leaning forward, she held them both out to the two of them. </p><p>'For … for me?' Harry asked, looking from the outstretched item to her. </p><p>'<i>Yes,</i> Mr Potter.' Though her smile was small—it was warm. </p><p>'Thank you,' Harry said softly, accepting the gift. 'And Harry's fine.' </p><p>'Harry, then.' </p><p>Beside him, Draco took the gift in hand, and shot him a look. </p><p>'Well, open them.' </p><p>Harry carefully tore at the pretty paper, to reveal a brown leather journal. An identical one to what was currently in Draco's hands. </p><p>'<i>Mother</i>.' Draco looked up at her, wide-eyed. 'You …' </p><p>She nodded very slightly. 'I thought you might need another, for when you've used up all the pages in your first.' </p><p>Narcissa Malfoy had given them the first set of journals? On <i>purpose</i>? </p><p>'But … but why?' Draco asked, and it was exactly what Harry was thinking. </p><p>'My darling,' she began. 'I hated to see you struggle and isolate yourself.' She looked around the room again. 'You locked yourself up in this little flat all summer long. Pansy had even mentioned that you had failed to return her letters.' </p><p>Draco sucked in a breath. </p><p>'I only wanted you to have a friend—someone you could confide in.' </p><p>Harry blinked at her. This was so … strange. And … sweet? </p><p>'And Harry Potter seemed the ideal choice.' </p><p>He did? </p><p>'He did?' Draco asked. </p><p>Mrs Malfoy made an amused sort of sound—not quite a snort. Something softer. 'Don't think I don't know you've desired Harry's friendship before you'd even met.' </p><p>Harry glanced at Draco to see a blush forming up his neck. 'Before we'd met?' </p><p>Draco shot him a half-glare, and Harry couldn't help but grin. </p><p>'Oh yes Mr—<i>Harry</i>. You were quite the topic of conversation in our household.' </p><p>'<i>Mother</i>.' </p><p>'Sorry, dear.' She smoothed a palm over her robes. 'Therefore, out of all the options, who better than Harry Potter, I thought. Your lives were always intertwined, mainly for the worse, but I thought a little nudge could send you both in the right direction.' She looked pointedly at their pyjamas. 'And I see that I was right.' </p><p>'Mother, I …' Draco shot Harry a wide-eyed look, before turning back to her. 'Harry and I …' </p><p>She smiled. 'I'm sure I already know, but I'm happy to hear you say it, if you're ready.' </p><p>Draco reached for Harry's hand, and squeezed. Harry squeezed back. 'I love him,' Draco said, and it filled Harry's chest with a sudden surprise warmth. Mrs Malfoy didn't even bat an eyelash—instead she kept smiling. 'I'm gay, mother. And Harry's my boyfriend.' </p><p>'Thank you for telling me.' Still with that same enigmatic smile … Harry couldn't tell what she was thinking.  </p><p>'Are you angry?' Draco asked. </p><p>'Not at all. Just the opposite, in fact.' </p><p>'But … ever since I was young, I was made to believe …' Draco swallowed. 'That my duty to the family was to produce a Malfoy heir.' </p><p>'Draco, my darling,' she leant forward and fixed her son with an intense stare. 'Don't you know that the war changed everything? When I thought there was a <i>chance</i> …' her gaze shifted to Harry. And he remembered that moment in the Forbidden Forest, when all Mrs Malfoy had needed to know was that her son was all right. That was all it'd taken to betray Voldemort. '… that you may not make it, all that mattered in the world was your safety. Your happiness.' </p><p>Draco squeezed Harry's hand, and a soft choke escaped his lips. When Harry looked, he saw a tear fall from the corner of Draco's eye.  </p><p>'I only want for you your happiness,' Mrs Malfoy reiterated, as her expression softened. 'And if Harry Potter is the one to bring that about, then I accept your relationship whole-heartedly.' </p><p>'Mother—' Draco choked out, before rising to stand and going to her.  </p><p>Narcissa carefully rose to her feet to meet him in a tight embrace.  </p><p>'Thank you,' Draco whispered into her robes. His voice sounded wet. He pulled back a bit to ask, 'And father?' </p><p>She let out a little sigh. 'Your father is a stubborn man. But he has no say in this, do you understand? I will deal with him.' </p><p>Draco nodded and sank back into her arms. </p><p>Mrs Malfoy met Harry's eyes past Draco's shoulder, and she smiled.  </p><p>This was the perfect Christmas gift, Harry thought. The best gift. Now he didn't have to worry about Draco's parents' disapproval. He didn't have to wonder if there would come a day when they'd be forced apart. Now … now they could simply enjoy one another, and see where this went. (And Harry couldn't wait to see how it would go.) </p><p>Mrs Malfoy stayed for a nice breakfast, then bid them goodbye. </p><p>Draco sighed as he shut the door after her, and sunk back, leaning against the closed door.  </p><p>'How do you feel?' Harry asked, coming up across from him.  </p><p>'Profoundly blessed,' Draco said, smiling, as he pulled Harry in flush against him, and captured his mouth in a slow kiss. He broke away to say, 'I love you so much, Harry Potter.' </p><p>Harry grinned, nuzzling into Draco's warm neck. 'I love you too, Draco Malfoy.' He planted a kiss there. ‘Now, time to get started on dinner preparations.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Phew—done ✅<br/>Thank you for reading all this way ❤️</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828871">The Journal - Fan Art</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptipthebipbip/pseuds/tiptipthebipbip">tiptipthebipbip</a>
    </li>
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